


Exit Wounds

by StarAndMoon (TheDarkestStar)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, M/M, Mentions of self-harm, Murder Mystery, Post-War, Pre-Relationship, St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-03 05:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4089562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkestStar/pseuds/StarAndMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco are placed in one hospital room and team up to investigate a murder.</p><p>Kudos to amazing essayofthoughts (on tumblr and here) for beta-ing!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In these dreams it’s always you:  
> The boy in the sweatshirt,  
> The boy on the bridge, the boy who always keeps me  
> from jumping off the bridge.  
> Oh, the things we invent when we are scared  
> and want to be rescued.
> 
> Richard Siken “I Had a Dream About You"

Draco woke up sweating. It took his eyes a second to adjust to the dim lights of the room, and two more to find an explanation for the emptiness of it. Nothing here was his: not the empty walls, not the godawful sheets on the tiny, uncomfortable bed, and surely not the piece of cheap fabric that was pretending to be his pajamas. The only logical explanation was that he was kidnapped and held against his will in a room that probably ( _definitely_ ) belonged to a sadistic serial killer. He contemplated escaping through the window for a few more seconds, until the memory part of his brain finally woke up to remind him that he had been lying in this room for the past four days.

“St. Mungo’s,” mumbled Draco. “I’m at St. Mungo’s again. Great.”

Over the last two years, Draco became a frequent visitor of St. Mungo’s, not out of his will and mostly purely by accident, but, nonetheless, this room probably already had his name on it. Of course, he couldn’t be sure it was the same room he had two years ago, since he didn’t remember the exact way his room looked. His eyes were covered with bandages for the most part of his stay, but still, he was pretty confident it was the same combination of bleak and claustrophobic. That time he was admitted to St. Mungo’s with utterly terrifying magical burns of his upper region. A terrible, terrible accident.

At least, that’s what he told the Healers, or they would’ve locked him up for much longer than a week. No one, except for him, knew the truth. Not even his mother, Draco hoped, though he wasn’t entirely sure. She did send him long gloves, the ones that go all the way up to the elbows, soon after the “accident”. He assumed it was to cover the burns, but they were gone by then. Draco still wore them on occasion. Mother seemed pleased.

As if covering up ever solved anything.

To be fair, this is exactly what he tried to do. And when the conventional methods didn’t work, he decided to cook up his own. A potion, that is. He was always good at Potions, as Severus always claimed. Then again, Severus turned out to be a professional liar, or maybe it was Draco who had overestimated his own talents. By now Draco found the irony amusing: as always, his attempt to do something useful and harmless blew up in his face. This time, quite literally.

He spent three weeks at St. Mungo’s, and by the time he was released he was good as new: the new scars were gone, the old ones still there. Even the eyebrows grew back.

The Mark was still there.

The second time, a year later, after a particularly unpleasant altercation with a waiter at a Diagon Alley cafe, he decided to take a more direct approach. Draco’s plan was ingenious in its simplicity: cut the damn thing off, and then pour some Skin Growth Potion on the wound. The skin grew back with the Mark, and the pain made him so sick he passed out, to be found hours later by Pansy in a pool of his own blood. Healers didn’t believe it was an accident this time, and tried to make him stay for two more months “for an observation.” Mother arranged for the Healers to release him under her care after two weeks, and made him move back into the Manor. She took all the locks from bathrooms’ doors, and he began to wear the gloves even indoors. He promised her he’d moved on, and he did.

He had no idea why he was back at St. Mungo’s.

He tried to explain to everyone concerned that he was poisoned, pleading them to search for the perpetrator. It was the most unpleasant feeling in the world, to not be trusted. Pansy said, in her most sugary voice, “Of course I believe you!”, and he wanted to never talk to her again. Mother said nothing. 

After four days, Draco barely believed himself. Still, there was a quiet voice on the back of his head, a sense of urgency, a desire to act. _Someone tried to kill me. Someone got into my house and poisoned me. Someone out there wants me dead._

Draco was getting really tired of being afraid.

A Healer came in to open the drapes. “Good morning, Mr. Malfoy! And how are we feeling today?”

Draco gave him his most disingenuous smile. “Good morning! I’m fine.” He thought for a second. “Just hungry.” He couldn’t remember the last time he actually got to keep the food inside his stomach.

“That’s good! Breakfast is in an hour. Oh, and I have some news for you.” The Healer was fixing the bed next to him. Draco thought it is really rude of him not to know the name of his caretaker, but he didn’t want to give them an impression that he has accepted their decision to keep him locked up under phony reasons.

“Are you releasing me?” Draco asked without any hope in his voice.

“Oh, no!” The Healer shook his head. “No, not yet, Mr. Malfoy. But, hopefully, you won’t be as bored anymore. You’re getting a roommate! And I know what you’re going to say, that you specifically asked for a single room, but —“

“But what? You’re overbooked?”

“Well,” the Healer chuckled slightly, “not just _that_. We believe this will help with your recovery. Now, don’t complain. If something goes wrong, we’ll leave you alone, like you wanted. But I do hope nothing goes wrong.”

Draco really wanted to protest again, but understood the futility of it. To his regret, he also understood that playing by the rules meant earlier release, even if those “rules” included tolerating someone else’s snoring, someone else’s hair in the shower, someone else’s sobbing parents bringing stinking food and their own aroma of cheap perfume and decay. He shrugged, remembering vividly his Hogwarts’ dormitory. Draco hated having roommates. He particularly hated this new roommate, forced upon him by these godawful Healers. He wished he still had his wand so he could apparate them all into a volcano. Draco hated St. Mungo’s. He missed his house. He missed having bathrooms with locks on the doors.

He wanted to tell all that to the Healer, but instead rewarded him with another smile. “Company sounds great, I was getting so bored here, all by my lonesome. And whatever happened to this new roommate of mine, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Oh, he was injured in the line of duty. Don’t you worry, Mr. Malfoy, nothing too serious. We’ll be releasing him in no time.”

“Line of duty?” A cold shiver went down Draco’s spine. 

“He’s an Auror, Mr. Malfoy.” The Healer was already at the door. “You can ask him all about it yourself. I’m sure you’ll have a lot to talk about.”

“Wait! What’s his name?” Draco felt he already knew the answer, but hoped to be wrong. Oh, how he hoped to be wrong.

“Oh, I can’t believe I haven’t told you that! It’s Mr. Potter, sir.” The Healer changed his voice to a whisper. “ _The_ Mr. Potter.”

He winked and left the room.

Draco felt a terrible desire to get poisoned all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

They sneaked Potter in while Draco was taking a walk after breakfast. He came back half an hour later, and Potter was already there, lying on the bed covered with a blanket, only his hair sticking out, spread all over the pillow.

“Merlin, get a haircut, Potter,” muttered Draco. Based on Potter’s consequent reaction, Draco concluded that the roommate situation was a surprise to him as well.

Potter looked at him as if he was questioning whether or not he was hallucinating.

“Malfoy,” he stated finally.

“Potter,” Draco bowed lightly in reply.

“What the _hell_ are _you_ doing _here_ ,” Potter grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, apparently not believing his own eyes.

 “I’m a patient here, Potter, what do you think I’m doing here? This is my room,” Draco felt compelled to add. “I’ve been here for several days already.”

 “What happened to you?” Potter sat down on his bed and yawned.

 “Food poisoning,” Draco lied. Then he remembered his decision to play by the Healers’ rules.

“Or rather, tea poisoning. Anyway, I got poisoned.”

 “Hm.” Potter’s expression was completely neutral, to Draco’s disappointment.

 “What about you?”

 “Got cursed,” Potter said simply. “Are they releasing you soon?”

 “It depends.”

 “On what?”

  _On you_ , Draco thought. “I don’t know,” he said instead. “Merlin knows what they’re thinking. The Healers here apparently believe the boy who lived is a panacea for everything. They haven’t asked you to touch any patients’ foreheads yet, have they?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Potter rolled his eyes, rather rudely, Draco thought.

“One of them had this bright idea that having you as a roommate would be beneficial for my recovery.”

“You must have misunderstood something, Malfoy,” Potter shrugged, staring at Draco’s gloves.

“I was outside,” Draco explained, hastily taking off the gloves.

“Afraid to touch the benches, are you?”

Draco ignored him, and, after a while, Potter went back to sleep. They didn’t say a word to each other for the rest of the day.

Potter turned out to be an uneasy sleeper. Draco caught himself watching him sleep in the middle of the night. He explained it with boredom. Having someone in the room with him, even if that someone was Potter, was oddly soothing, as well as mildly entertaining. A couple of times Potter mumbled something in his sleep, but, as much as Draco strained his ears, he couldn’t figure out what it was. At one point, Potter hugged his pillow with both hands, a gesture that hit Draco like a cold wave. He hastily turned away, and closed his eyes.

 

***

Draco dreamt Potter’s hair turned into snakes and slithered away, and the snakes were now all over the floor, trying to get onto Draco’s bed. Draco tried to fight them off, but they were everywhere. Draco pleaded Potter to make them go away, and Potter hissed something in Parseltongue, but it didn’t help. One of the snakes was now around Draco’s neck, and he could barely breathe. Potter hissed something again, and the snake released its grip and slithered away. Draco wanted to tell Potter something very important, but the snake seemed to have taken his ability to speak. The hair-snakes were now slithering back to Potter, swirling around his body until they reached his head. Then he was Potter again. He hissed at Draco something in Parseltongue, and Draco tried to explain to him that he didn’t understand, but only hissed back. Finally, Draco realized that he, too, was talking in Parseltongue, only he couldn’t understand what he was saying. Potter smiled and crawled closer to him. He kept coming closer and closer, and his head seemed to be moving separately from his body, until finally Draco couldn’t see anything but his eyes and his lips. Draco hissed something, urgently, desperately, and Potter caught his words with his open mouth. Draco felt his whole body shiver violently and closed his eyes. Then he felt a hot flash and woke up sweating.

Potter was sitting on his bed and reading, his hair as untidy and ordinary as always. Draco crawled out of his bed and rushed into the shower. His heart was beating fast, his hands were shaking, and his eyes were wet with sleep.

He wondered what Potter had dreamt of.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Weasley, as ginger and annoying as ever, came by to visit Potter in the afternoon, right after lunch. He brought snacks, books, and an unidentified bundle, and he talked to Potter in a hushed voice, glaring at Draco threateningly. Potter didn’t glare at Draco at all, which frustrated him even more than Ron’s presence. Draco stayed in the room until Ron left, out of sheer spite. As soon as the door behind Ron was closed, Draco put on his cloak and went for a walk.

When he returned, Potter was still there, and Draco couldn’t take any more of the awkward silence.

“So, who cursed you?” Draco asked him as casually as he could. Casual conversations with Potter was an unmarked territory for him, and he didn’t like new things. Draco preferred the comfort of the old and familiar. To deal with his conflicting feelings, he sneered. 

Potter frowned for a second, and then replied: 

“Just a couple of Death Eaters. Broke into Borgin and Burkes in the middle of the night, shot some spells at the Apparating Aurors, got me when I was half-way inside. I think they used some artifact or a grinding spell because the pieces were flying everywhere. It backfired, too. Got them even better than us. Very strange people.”

“You got splinched?” Draco squirmed, imagining Potter’s pieces flying everywhere. He thought the thought of it would be amusing, but his squeamishness betrayed him. He looked over Potter one more time. Everything seemed to be in place. Just a couple dozen new scars, but Draco knew from experience those were temporary. Most likely.

“Yeah.”

“You really ought to be more careful, Potter. How many scars do you really need? Do you want to look like a jigsaw puzzle? Cos that ain’t gonna be pretty.”

Potter smirked. 

“ _What_?”

“Why are you so concerned with my scars, Malfoy?”

“What?”

“Honestly, what did they do to you here? You sound like Hermione.”

“Have they misplaced your ears? Or your brain? Because I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Potter rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” 

“Did you catch them then?”

“Well, Ron said they did. I myself was quite useless, being splinched in three places and all.”

“I’m sure the newspapers will see it differently.” 

“I’m sure they will,” Potter pressed his lips and looked away.

“When are you going to be released then?”

“I don’t know. You? What happened to you, anyway? Food poisoning?”

“ _No_ , I said I was poisoned, and it possibly was in the food. It wasn’t _food poisoning_.”  

“Really? Who poisoned you?” Potter looked somewhat concerned, Draco noticed with satisfaction.

 “I don’t know. I think someone tried to kill me.”

 “Have you told the Healers that? They should’ve contacted the Auror’s office… Is that why they put me here? They didn’t tell me anything about an attempted murder though. How could they forget to mention something like that?”

 “I told everyone that, but no one believed me.” Draco said. “I don’t know why they put you here. I didn’t ask for Auror protection. Though it doesn’t matter what I asked for, since every single one of my wishes here goes completely ignored.” 

 “Why did no one believe you?”

 “I don’t know! I guess it’s so unbelievable for someone to try and kill me.”

 “Sounds very plausible to me.”

 “Thank you!” Draco waved his hands in agreement. Then, a second later, it hit him. “Wait, what do you mean by that? You think there are people out there who want to kill me? _Why_ would there be people wanting to kill me?”

 “Isn’t that what you’ve been saying?”

 “No! Yes? No!”

 “Get your testimony straight, Draco. I wasn’t trying to insult you, I’m just saying, it’s plausible. There have been quite a few attempts made on former Death Eaters.”

 “And we weren’t notified about it?” Draco jumped from the bed as if bitten. “Oh, the incompetency!”

 “The Auror office is doing everything it can,” Potter frowned. “You should’ve reported it through the proper channels, that’s all.”

 “Right… Have you not noticed that I’m at St. Mungo’s? How exactly am I supposed to contact your proper channels? I don’t even have my wand here. They confiscated it! Did they take your wand away, Potter?”

 “Actually, they did. We will get them back once we’re released. And don’t get so agitated. I can take your statement. I have nothing better to do, anyway.”

 “Oh, thanks.” Draco wanted to tell him to go to hell, but his concern about his and Mother’s well-being outweighed his pride, much to his dissatisfaction. Objectively, Potter was his best shot at finding the person who poisoned him. First of all, no one else seemed to believe him. Secondly, despite all his innumerable flaws, Draco had to admit Potter was good at his job. He didn’t know that for a fact, but if Potter had managed to defeat the Dark Lord, surely he could do a simple job of finding the criminal and getting him a Dementor’s kiss. (The last part was unfortunately outlawed, but one could dream.)

 Potter got a piece of paper and a quill and adjusted his glasses.

 “So, you were saying you were poisoned…” Potter was becoming repetitive, but, as soon as Draco opened his mouth to inform him of that, the door opened and a janitor came in.

 “Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy. Is this a bad time?”

 “Oh no, not at all!” Potter replied for the both of them. “Should we wait outside?”

 “Oh no, you don’t have to.”

 “No, it’s no trouble. Come on, Draco, we can do it outside.”

Draco rolled his eyes again, but followed him without comment. A walk with Potter sounded as surreal as the rest of the day, and Draco began to doubt if he even woke up today. As they walked, he watched Potter’s back of the head, half-expecting to see snakes. He wondered if Potter could still speak in Parseltongue. Rita Skeeter claimed he couldn’t, but Rita Skeeter wasn’t the most reliable source of information. She could never even get his age right.

Draco hissed quietly at the back of Potter’s head, but it remained hairy and lifeless.

 


	4. Chapter 4

When they came back, a Healer was already there, waiting for them. To Draco’s relief, it was a completely different Healer, a middle-aged woman in huge glasses and with big soft hands, which could only mean one thing: the other one was finally fired due to his utter incompetence.

Still, he wanted to be sure.

“What happened to the other Healer, Mrs…?” Draco asked her as she was putting potion on Potter’s arm.

“Ms. Goldflower. Oh, and I wouldn’t know. We have trouble locating him.” The last part was addressed to Potter.

“ _Really_?” Potter looked at Draco questioningly, as if it was his fault. Draco mouthed to him “NOT MY FAULT,” and Potter mouthed back something that looked more like a long “OOOOO” than a real sentence. Draco interpreted it as “YOU SURE?” and wanted to reply when Ms. Goldflower turned to him.

“Nobody seems to have seen him for two days, Mr. Malfoy. Has he come to check on you yesterday?”

With all the Potter excitement, Draco completely forgot that he hadn’t been seen by the Healer yesterday at all.

“No, in the matter of fact I haven’t seen him since before Mr. Potter joined me in my quarters here.”

“I see,” Ms. Goldflower bit her lip. “Well, everything seems to be going well with you two, thankfully. See you tomorrow!”

“Mrs. Goldflower,” Potter looked concerned. “You better contact the Aurors about that.”

“Will do, Mr. Potter. Have a good day.”

As soon as she left, Draco repeated that it was not his fault, out loud this time.

“I was just joking, relax, Malfoy. Doesn’t sound funny though, does it? A Healer disappearing…”

“He’s probably in a pub somewhere, celebrating his brilliant new methodology of healing via Harry Potter.” Draco said. Potter didn’t answer.

“Shouldn’t we have gotten supper by now.”

“Huh.”

“This place is terrible.”

“It’s not a hotel, Malfoy.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Do you want a snack.”

Draco wanted a snack. “No?”

“I have a pie.”

“I don’t want your pie,” sneered Draco as his stomach growled loudly. 

“You sure?” Harry was taunting him, but Draco was adamant. “Well, suit yourself.” Potter got the pie out of the bundle Weasley had brought him, and began eating it. “Hagrid baked it, it’s really good,” he said with his mouth full, which was disgusting and, Draco had to admit, kind of cute. “It even has icing!”

“Who puts icing on a pie,” Draco reluctantly grabbed a spoon. He hated Potter and Hagrid and his pies, but he didn’t eat anything during lunch and now felt positively empty. The pie was eatable. The icing was an interesting touch. Potter had some cherry juice on his lower lip. He wiped it off eventually.

After they finished the pie, they played chess. After the game of chess, which Potter expectedly lost, they discussed Quidditch. It was quite a one-sided conversation as Potter gave Draco a whole speech about different brands of brooms, and his knowledge was too correct for Draco to argue about. Eventually, Potter said goodnight and turned off the lights. He had to go and turn them off manually, without a wand, so he stumbled back in the darkness, which drove Draco to go on a rant about the lack of lamps on the nightstands and general stupidity of whoever designed the place. Draco wondered if their dinners depended on their Healer and if, without him, they would go on being hungry forever. He wondered if the Healer had run away with their wands and was now selling them to Azkaban. He wondered how Potter could already be asleep when the moon was shining so brightly, right into Draco’s eye.

Then he wondered about the loud noise outside, a sound of something heavy hitting the ground, and went to the window to see what it was. A second later, someone screamed, and Potter woke up.

“What is going on?!” Harry jumped out of bed, looking around himself in panic.

Draco turned around. “Something’s on the ground, look.”

Potter put on his glasses, came up to the window and looked down, squinting.

“Malfoy…,” he said quietly. “That’s not something. That’s _someone_.”

Draco looked down again. Healers have surrounded the whatever-it-was on the ground and were now looking up, at their window. Draco backed away, as a reflex. Potter stayed still.

“Why are they looking at us like that?” Draco asked nervously, feeling as if something got stuck in his throat.

“I think they’re looking at the window next to us, hold on,” Potter rushed toward the door. Draco watched him as he picked outside. “Three Healers just entered the room next to us.”

“Are you saying that’s our neighbor out there on the ground?”

“Seems like it.”

“That’s impossible. The windows are protected by a spell. _And the bars_ ,” Draco pointed, rather dramatically, to their own window.

“Weird, ha.” Potter was now searching something in his bundle. “Don’t turn on the lights!” he hissed at Draco, noticing him going towards the door.

“I won’t. Just wanted to take a peek. What are you looking for?”

“My Invisibility Cloak.” He looked up at Draco. “It’s not there!”

“Did Weasley forget to put it in?”

“No, I’ve checked, it was there! Malfoy, someone stole my Invisibility Cloak.”

“It wasn’t me!”

“I know it wasn’t you, I was with you the whole day!”

“Well, anyone could’ve taken it, we went for a walk for like an hour, remember?”

Potter looked utterly devastated. He sat on his bed, head in his hands. Draco wasn’t sure what to do.

Finally, he sat next to him, and even thought for a second about putting his hand on Potter’s shoulder, but changed his mind. “You’ll find it.”

“Something’s going on here,” Potter said, looking him straight in the eye.

“What do you think is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Potter stood up and put on his cloak. “But I’m going to find out.”


	5. Chapter 5

Despite Harry’s weak protests, Draco tagged along to watch him interrogate the Healers and harass the patients in the middle of the night. After all, if he were to trust Potter with his own investigation, Draco needed to be sure that he was capable of, well, investigating. He had always suspected that the brains behind every Potter operation was Granger, but since she didn’t become an Auror and Potter hasn’t yet been fired, Draco deduced that Potter must’ve been not bad himself. According to the Auror standards, at least. Draco wasn’t sure what the Aurors did, exactly; or rather, what their purpose outside of catching the Death Eaters was. _When the last Death Eater is caught_ , Draco wondered, what is Potter going to do? Catch teenagers for performing magic outside of Hogwarts? Enforce the Statute of Secrecy? Make sure there are no fights during Quidditch matches?

Draco felt sorry for Potter and his terrible life choices.

Personally, Draco couldn’t imagine himself as an Auror. In fact, he had trouble imagining himself as anything. The original plan for him was to work at the Ministry, like Father, but since Father was serving a five year sentence in Azkaban, Draco doubted those doors were still open for him. Thinking about Father made Draco relive all the terrible times that had happened to his family after the war: watching Father being dragged out of bed by the Aurors; the trial; the sentencing. Mother hiding the tears. The judges’ smug faces and didactic speeches. The emptiness of the Manor that drove him up the wall until finally he decided to move out and rented himself an apartment in London. Lying in bed for days staring at the Mark, trying to think of a way to make it all better. Dreaming about Azkaban and wondering why he wasn’t there, right beside his father. Being glad that he wasn’t, and being ashamed of feeling glad.

Lost in thought, Draco didn’t listen to Potter’s conversations with the staff. He caught the name of their neighbor - Polonius Selwyn - which indicated that he was a pureblood, but Draco wasn’t familiar with him and, frankly, didn’t care for him anymore. He wanted to go to bed and sleep for three days straight. Hanging around Potter was exhausting. Draco mindlessly took some files from the Healer’s table and looked through them without much interest, until the Healer grabbed them from his hands.

“Those are confidential, Mr. Malfoy,” the Healer said, putting the files in her desk.

“Why do you keep them lying around like that then,” Draco snarled back. Potter, who was sitting next to him and looking through a different file, stepped on his foot.

“It’s not good for your recovery, Mr. Potter, to be up all night. Surely it all can be resolved tomorrow,” said the Healer, who, Draco now noticed with satisfaction, looked absolutely miserable.

“Of course,” said Potter, in a tone that suggested that their conversation was far from over. “I just need a list of everyone who had an access to his room at the time of his death.”

“That would be every Healer on duty, as well as the patients, sir.”

“How many people is it?”

“About three hundred.”

“I see,” Potter looked at the window. It was already dawn. “When can it be ready?”

“I’ll get someone to prepare you the list by this afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Potter got up and shook the Healer’s hand. Draco followed his lead. “Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy.” The Healer got up to close the door behind them.

“Who was that, again?” asked Draco once they were outside of the Healer’s office.

“Weren’t you there with me?”

“I stopped paying attention after the third person you talked to.”

“Well, this one was the Head of St. Mungo’s. They had to wake her up, because of the incident. Never happened before, apparently.”

They were walking down a white corridor Draco had no memory of. At an intersection, they turned left, then entered the stairs. That turned out to be the wrong way, so they went back to the intersection to try and go right instead.

“So, who was he?” Draco asked. Potter hushed at him, indicating that he needed to lower his voice. They were walking past the patients’ quarters, Magical Bugs and Diseases department. Draco covered his mouth with a handkerchief.

“A former Death Eater. Did two years in Azkaban after the war. His file said he was admitted to St. Mungo’s with magical burns two days ago. Claimed someone threw a hex at him in a bar fight. Do you know how to get back to our rooms or not?” The right turn led them into the janitor’s closet.

“I am following you!”

“You’re ahead of me.”

“That’s because I’m tired of walking behind you all the time.”

“Merlin, Malfoy, can you be slightly less of a nuisance? Why did you even come along if you weren’t even listening?”

“I heard them. Blah-blah-blah, never happened before, we have no idea how it could’ve happened, blah-blah. I think we need to go left, then go down the stairs instead of up.”

“But our room is on the fourth story, and this is the second one.”

“No, I remember now, I was here before. We have to walk down the ground floor to get back to _our_ staircase. I told you, this building was built by an idiot.”

Potter sighed and followed Draco down the stairs.

“So, what is the next step?” asked Draco once they were back in their room. “Interrogate the employees, find out their alibis?”

“They work here! They won’t have any alibis!” Potter, who went straight to the bathroom to brush his teeth, screamed at Draco over the running water.

“So what’s the next step then?” Draco screamed back.

“Stannish the movie!”

“What?”

“Establish the motive,” Potter came out of the bathroom, his hair wet, a towel in his hands. “The guy went to Azkaban for using The Cruciatus Curse on a Muggleborn. Sometimes people don’t recover after Cruciatus for many years, or ever.”

“Are you saying that person can be one of the patients here?”

“Possibly. If they had permanent damage, they would be on the same floor, at Janus Thickey Ward. Could’ve been faking it, then sneaked out, killed Selwyn, and got back into their room before anyone noticed anything. There was no information about the victim in his file, which I thought was strange. They requested the file from the Aurors office, it should’ve had all the information…”

“Wait a second. He got two years for  performing Cruciatus _and_ being a Death Eater?” Draco said angrily. “My father got five, and he didn’t even have a wand for the last year of the war.”

“Selwyn claimed he was under Imperius.”

“He got two years for being under Imperius?”

“I don’t know, Malfoy, I wasn’t at his trial. Maybe he cooperated. Let’s just go to sleep.” To illustrate the end of the conversation Potter put the blanket over his head.

Draco wanted to object, but as soon as his head touched the pillow his exhaustion overpowered his anger over Selwyn’s illogical sentence, and he fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of nothing but black space and distant light of dying stars.


	6. Chapter 6

“Malfoy. Hey, Malfoy!” Draco slowly opened his eyes. Potter was already dressed. “Are you going to wake up today?”

“That wasn’t in my plans, no.”

“Look, I have been thinking. How come you’re on the fourth floor?”

“Excuse me?” Draco rubbed his eyes.

“The fourth floor is for spell damages. You said you had poisoning.”

“They told me the third floor was overbooked.” 

“Really? So many potions gone wrong?”

“Or maybe there is a serial poisoner on the loose, I don’t know,” Draco finally managed to locate his slippers. “Why do you care? You were hexed, right?”

 “I was. Our neighbor was hexed as well. In fact, everyone I talked to on this floor was hexed or jinxed. You were the only one poisoned, as far as I could gather.”

 “Okay, so I was the only one they didn’t have any space for on the third floor, is that what you’re telling me?” 

“Could there be any other reason why you are here?”

“Sure,” Draco finished brushing his teeth and was now drying his face with a towel. “I specifically asked to be on this floor so I could kill my neighbor, Mr. Selwyn. Though I never met the man, I always carried a prodigious grudge against him. Who knows why. That’s just who I am. Oh, wait! To do that,” Draco came out of the bathroom and was now staring at Potter, who was rolling his eyes, “I stole Potter’s Invisibility Cloak! Oh, arrest me now, before it’s too late.”

“Are you done?” 

“Yes, I am.”

 “That is not what I meant. Maybe your Healer put you here because he thought you were hexed.”

 “The Healer who disappeared?”

 “Yes, that one. So, let me see… First, someone tries to poison you. Then you are admitted to St. Mungo’s and your Healer, he assigns you to the wrong floor, then puts me in one room with you, and then disappears without a trace. And two days later, your neighbor falls out of the window.” 

“Ha.” 

“Yeah,” Potter stared at Draco, though his gaze was unfocused, as though his mind was wondering somewhere far.

“So, you’re saying, it was all about me? Getting to _me_?”

 “Well, no,” Potter rubbed his nose. “We still haven’t dismissed the possibility that Selwyn’s killer is a patient at Janus Thickey Ward, your Healer simply quit without notice, and you just had a really bad tea.”

 “But, more likely, someone is so determined to kill _me_ they killed my neighbor and my Healer to get to me,” Draco took a deep breath to try and calm himself. He couldn’t believe someone would go through so much trouble to harm him. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this. Who could possibly want to kill him, and why?

 “That doesn’t make any sense. Killing Selwyn couldn’t possibly help them get to you. In fact, now St. Mungo’s has tripled the security and are checking all charms on windows and doors. Whoever killed him should’ve expected that. I don’t think they were after you. Unless…”

 “Unless what?”

 “They got the wrong room?”

 “Wow.” Draco was now pacing up and down the room. “I need some air. Some fresh air.”

 “Do you want me to go with you?”

 “What, you think someone’s gonna jump out of the bushes and _murder_ me?”

 “I don’t know,” Potter shrugged and made a face.

  _What a great Auror you are,“don’t know,”_ Draco thought to himself. He grabbed his Cloak and walked out of the door in silence, hoping, against himself, that Potter would follow him. He didn’t.

 Draco walked down to his bench, sat down and put his head in his hands. He sat like that for a couple of minutes, until, suddenly, he noticed a shadow, almost covering him, long under the afternoon sun. Draco stopped breathing for a moment, then gathered all his strength and turned around to face the inevitable.

 It was Potter. He was standing at some distance behind the bench, staring at the sky, not paying any attention to Draco.

 “What are you doing here?” He asked finally, walking up to Potter as casually as he could.

 “Making sure you don’t get yourself killed, Malfoy. Come on, let’s have some lunch. I’m starving.”

 

***

The mystery of the missing from the file victim’s name was resolved later that evening, when Granger stopped by to visit Potter and drop off the research she already had made on the case. Draco again began doubting if Potter was capable of doing anything by himself, but decided to cut him some slack due to his limited capabilities in the current situation. Draco, who preferred to do things himself, nevertheless understood the importance of delegating; it certainly saved time.

 Selwyn’s victim, whose name went missing from the file due to the utter incompetence and negligence of everyone working in Wizarding Justice System, was one Jack Hefferson, a 32 years old Muggleborn, who was, apparently, an important ally of the Order of the Phoenix and even had an article written about him a couple of years ago in the Daily Prophet. He survived the curse and went on to organize some sort of a support group for the war survivors. Granger went on and on about the importance of the work he was now doing and what an inspiration he was. Draco yawned and grabbed the Daily Prophet from Potter’s hands.

 “Give it back, Malfoy, I was reading it,” Potter demanded, rather rudely.

 “She’s been retelling you the whole thing anyway,” Malfoy replied, lying down on his bed to read the newspaper.

 “ _Anyway_ ,” Granger shot Malfoy a look. “Hefferson decided he —-“

 “Wait a second,” Malfoy finally opened the paper on the right page and was now staring at the smiling and waving picture of Jack Hefferson. “Potter!”

 “What?”

 “I know him! Potter, that’s my Healer!”

 “The one who disappeared?” Potter and Granger exchanged concerned looks. Draco had noticed it many times in school, how these three had looked like they’re having lengthy conversations just by staring at each other. He wished he had that kind of bond with someone; he had to explain everything he was thinking to Crabbe and Goyle out loud, sometimes repeatedly.

 “Yes, that one, of course, that one. That is his picture. I didn’t know his name before.”

 “You didn’t know the name of your Healer?” Granger asked, and looked at Potter again. This was getting annoying.

 “Well, I didn’t know a _celebrity_ was treating me, otherwise _of course_ I would’ve learnt his name.”

 “Of course you would,” Granger replied. Then, to Potter: “So, how long has he been missing?”

 “He went AWOL a day or so before Selwin’s murder,” Potter said. 

 “It says here he was helping the victims of war to move on,” Draco was looking through the article. “Failed to follow his own advice, didn’t he?”

 Potter frowned.

 “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? He wanted revenge. So he got you here, next room to Selwin, stole your Cloak, hid somewhere, killed the guy, and ran away in your Cloak,” Draco explained patiently.

 “That does make sense, Harry,” Granger said. “I’m sorry about the Cloak,” she put her hand on his head. “I have been thinking about locating spells that might work on it. I’m sure we’ll get it back soon.”

 Granger changed the topic, and her and Potter talked about whatever it was that interested both of them and no one else in the world for another hour. The two of them had dinner together and, based on the ginger back of the head Draco noticed from afar, were joined by one of the long-haired Weasleys. Draco spent the evening writing a letter to Mother, which he promised to do every day, but had neglected ever since Potter was placed in his room by now turned out to have been a murderous lunatic. _No surprise there_ , Draco whispered to himself. To Mother, he wrote nothing about the Healer, nor Potter. Instead, he wrote her several vague paragraphs about his afternoon walks that remarkably lifted his spirit, the wonders of remedies he was fed regularly, and the exceptional care he was being provided with. He told her he was feeling much better. That part was almost true. He did feel better for a while.

 Now it all began to look more like a dream he had woken up from abruptly, and now the details of it got distorted by the interference, the events blurred into each other and lost their logic, and the very feeling of it was already slipping away.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Draco, exhausted from the pervious night’s adventures with Potter, fell asleep before dusk and, consequently, didn’t hear Potter come back. He woke up in the middle of the night and checked his watch. 3:15 AM. Potter was lying in bed, wide awake. 

“Are you up?” Draco whispered to him, thinking that he might be sleeping with his eyes open. _Constant vigilance,_ Draco remembered suddenly, and shrugged to get rid of an unpleasant memory.

“Yes. Are you?” The question seemed redundant. Draco put on his slippers and went to turn on the lights. Potter winced. He looked completely run-down. Draco wondered if he had slept at all.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Potter said finally. “That doesn’t make much sense to me. A guy spends so much time helping others to get over whatever had happened to them, yet secretly is obsessed with revenge? And how did he even planned this? Why did he put you here? _Or me_? How did he know about the Cloak? How did he know Selwyn is going to be admitted to St. Mungo’s?”

Potter looked like he’s been manufacturing questions like these all night long.

“Well, maybe it was a crime of opportunity. He saw Selwyn, realized that he was not over it, and then acted on impulse. Who knows, Potter, what’s going on inside other people’s heads.”

“But he disappeared before Selwyn’s death. See, it _sounds_ logically, but doesn’t quite add up. As if someone wanted us to jump to this conclusion and let it go.”

“He had a motive, opportunity, means and no alibi. You do know that the most logical explanation is the one most likely to be true, don’t you.”

“Yeah, don’t get smart. I know you’re satisfied with your own explanation. E _veryone_ is satisfied with your explanation…”

“Which, of course, means it’s wrong,” Draco finished for him.

“ _No._ You’re most likely right,” Potter sighed deeply. “I’m probably just imagining things,” he rubbed his forehead. “I just can’t shake this feeling… I want to be sure.”

“Well, all right,” Draco sat down on the corner of Potter’s bed. “What do you propose to do?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking of going back into Selwyn’s room, if they haven’t cleaned it yet. Maybe there is something there in his personal belongings. Actually, I was about to go there when you woke up.”

“Well, let’s go do that then.”

“All right,” Potter almost jumped out of bed. “Get dressed then.”

 

***

The door, predictably, turned out to be locked. Draco didn’t try to hide his disappointment.

“Can you do wandless magic, Potter?” He whispered to Potter as he was pointlessly looking through his pockets.

“Not really, why?”

“Well, me neither,” reluctantly admitted Draco. “How are we going to open it without a wand? We have to get the key somewhere…”

“No, we don’t,” Potter smiled. He was holding a long hairpin in his hand.

“You’re not planning to stab the door, are you?” Draco frowned. Clearly, Potter has finally lost his mind from the lack of sleep.

“No, that’s a Muggle trick the Weasley twins taught me a while back. Look,” Potter put the pin inside the lock and twisted it around a bit. “Hold on, it’s going to work.”

“That is ridiculous.”

Potter continued to twist the pin inside the lock.

“I don’t know much about Muggles, Potter, but I’m pretty certain they use keys to unlock the doors.”

Potter sat down on his knees, ignoring Draco’s remarks. He got another pin from his pocket and was now sticking the two of them inside the unfortunate lock.

“Harry, that is just embarrassing.”

“Can you be quiet,” Potter hissed at him. Suddenly, there was a click. “Here!” Potter got up and twisted the handle. The door opened.

Draco had to admit, that was impressive. “You have an interesting set of skills, Potter. Whatever made you learn this one?”

“I was locked up in a broom closet and then in a room with a nailed down door for the most part of my childhood, and one time had to escape through the window in a flying car,” Potter replied in a serious tone of voice. Draco stared at him for a second.

“Are you joking?”

“No, I’m not,” Potter stared back at him. “Are you going to come in or what?”

 

***

Selwyn’s room looked exactly like theirs, except smaller and with only one bed, moved all the way into the corner. Harry didn’t let Draco to turn on the lights. Draco half-expected from Potter to produce another Muggle trick and get them to see things in the darkness, but, instead, Potter simply opened the shades. The Moon modestly lit up the room, though they still stumbled around disoriented for a minute or two, until their eyes adjusted to the dim light.

Potter looked on the bed, in the closet, in the nightstand’s drawers. Nothing. The room was completely free of personal belongings, with the exception of one expensive-looking cloak hanging in the closet. Its pockets were empty.

“There is nothing here,” Potter stated the obvious, and jumped on his knees next the bed. 

Draco joined him. “Nothing here, also,” he said. “Only dust.”

He watched dust play in the moonlight. Potter, who was now lying completely on the floor, was tracing it with his finger, deeper and deeper. Suddenly, he stopped. “Draco, get down here. Look.”

Draco reluctantly got on his stomach and followed Potter’s hand with his eyes. 

“There is no dust here,” Potter stated, pointing somewhere deep under the bed.

“You can’t see anything there.”

“No, but look. My finger is clean.”

“Your finger is anything but clean.”

Annoyed, Potter grabbed Draco’s hand and forced it under the bed. “See?”

Draco jerked his hand out of Potter’s grasp. His fingers didn’t feel dusty. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure what he touched was the floor. “You’re right.”

Potter got up on his feet. “We need to move this bed.”

They grabbed the bed by two sides and moved it slightly to the center of the room. The corner looked dusty. They moved the bed more, and then climbed over it, each from their own side.

Between them, illuminated by the moonlight, was a shinny, spotless area, surrounded by dust and what looked like a set of footprints. Harry sat on his knees and slowly reached his hand.

His hand stopped mid-air, as if unsure of itself. Draco was holding his breath. Suddenly, Potter made a fist and pulled.

Draco gasped so loudly he had to cover his mouth with his hand to avoid screaming. Then he looked at his hand, remembered touching the floor with it, and felt sick. Then he looked again at what used to be a dustless part of the floor, and felt the sickness stuck in his throat. He looked up at Potter, who was holding what now was obvious to have been his Invisibility Cloak.

Harry didn’t return his gaze. Mesmerized, he was staring down at the lifeless, frozen body of Jack Hefferson.


	8. Chapter 8

Having recovered from the initial shock of their discovery, Potter rushed to the door and made sure it was locked. Then, he returned to Hefferson and, after some consideration, threw the Cloak back on him. Watching the body disappear again forced Draco to come to his senses, and he hurried into the bathroom to wash his hands and face. He was still feeling sick and shaking uncontrollably, but couldn’t allow himself to fall apart now. He took a deep breath and breathed out; then again, and again. Finally, when he was ready to come out, Harry entered the bathroom instead.

“Are you all right there?” Potter stared at Draco’s reflection in the mirror. “Have I startled you?”

Draco watched them in the mirror. His eyes were red and face wet with water; Potter looked concerned, yet calm. Draco looked in the eyes of Harry’s reflection, not ready yet to turn around and face him. He turned off the tap.

“Don’t sneak up on people in the bathrooms, Potter, what’s wrong with you? I thought for a second you were Hefferson and almost had a heart attack,” Draco hurriedly dried his face with the inner side of his robe.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “You were in here for like ten minutes.”

“You could’ve knocked.”

“I did.”

“Oh,” Draco paused. “Well, I had the water running, so I didn’t hear you,” Draco turned around and marched out of the lit bathroom back into dark room. He didn’t like the way Potter kept staring at his face.

“So, what do we do now?” He asked after a pause. “Call the Aurors office? Find a-a-a Healer? What is the procedure here, Harry? Harry! Are you listening to me?”

“I think… we need to put him back,” Potter said slowly.

“ _What_?”

“If we tell anyone that we found him, whoever killed him won’t come back here.”

“And otherwise he would? You think he stuck around here after killing two people? He’s probably on the other side of the world by now.”

“I don’t think so. They will come back for Hefferson’s body to make sure nobody finds him. To make sure everyone thinks Hefferson killed Selwyn and disappeared, and the investigation is closed.”

“Why hasn’t he got rid of the body yet, then?” Draco sat down on the bed and glimpsed worriedly at the door. _If the murderer decides to return right now, they have nothing to defend themselves with._

“They probably couldn’t find a good time to enter the room without being seen, with all the security running around. They’ll probably come back for him tonight,” Potter stated simply, confirming Draco’s worst assumption.

“And we what? We’ll just for them here then? With no wands?”

“No, we’ll hide and make sure we see who it is. This is our best chance, Malfoy. You don’t have to stay, you know, you can go back to our room…”

“Where are we even going to hide here?” Draco chose to ignore Potter’s advice to retreat and hide, even though it was the most reasonable thing he had said so far. “In the closet? Under the bed, with the corpse? Where?”

“Under the Invisibility Cloak, of course,” Potter looked amused.

“The killer left your Cloak on the body. You think they won’t notice it’s gone?”

“It doesn’t matter what they notice or not! We just need to see the killer’s face, and then we’ll get out of here and call the security. And in any case, I’m not leaving my Cloak here. What if I’m wrong and the killer decides to come back next month, or doesn’t come back at all?” Potter rolled over the bed and grabbed the Cloak, revealing Hefferson’s body once again. “We’ll stick him back under the bed and put the Cloak on us.”

“I’m not getting under a Cloak that was lying on a corpse with you, Potter!” Draco spread his arms to illustrate the stupidity of Harry’s suggestion. The whole situation was beginning to look too unrealistic to be true. Draco contemplated pinching himself to make sure he was awake when he noticed that Potter had disappeared.

“Take your stupid Cloak off,” Draco made a face. Harry’s head showed up next to him. Draco smiled, despite himself. “Come on, let’s just put him back under the bed and go to our room. We can watch the hallway from there.”

“Not really, we can’t. But you’re right, we have to put the bed back,” Potter took off the Cloak. His face was serious again. “Then you go back to the room, and I’ll stay here until morning.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Draco grabbed his side of the bed too abruptly and almost dropped the bed on his foot.

 

***

After they dragged the bed back to its original location, Harry closed the shades and sat on the floor across the room. Draco sat next to him. Potter had put the Cloak on his lap, which made his knees uncomfortably invisible. Finally, Draco gave in to the temptation and grabbed the Cloak to try it on. Before Potter could react, he rushed into the bathroom to look at the absence of his reflection.

“Is this how you spent your Hogwarts days, Potter, hiding under this?” Draco came out of the bathroom and was now handing the Cloak to Harry, who hadn’t moved at all.

“And how did you spend your Hogwarts days, Malfoy?” retorted Potter. Draco snickered and sat down next to him.

“Trying to be the exact opposite of invisible, I suppose.”

“You’d want to be invisible sometimes, if you were me,” Potter said without any sarcasm in his voice.

“I sincerely doubt it. I mean, the Dark Lord trying to kill you all the time, that must’ve been terrible, but don’t pretend you didn’t like the attention everyone else was giving you. I’m not going to believe that.”

“Believe what you want,” shrugged Potter.

Draco side-eyed him, wondering to himself if Potter had played the poor orphan routine for so long it actually became genuine.

“Fine, but then how come you still end up on the front page of the Daily Prophet every other week? Why do you keep drawing attention to yourself if you hate it some much?”

“I’m just doing my job, Draco, like any other Auror, and the press singles me out, is that so hard to comprehend? I’m not doing it for the attention.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Why are _you_ sitting here? Are you hoping to end up on the front page yourself?”

“No!” Draco exclaimed as if insulted, even though the thought of it did sound somewhat appealing. “I’m sitting here, because someone tried to poison me and also because it would be boring to hang out next door all by myself.”

“We are sitting in a dark room with a body hidden under the bed waiting for someone to pick it up, and that someone might not even come,” Potter stared at Draco. “You don’t think that’s kind of boring?”

Draco frowned. He was feeling a lot of things simultaneously, but boredom wasn’t one of them. “Well, I’m assuming that’s an ordinary Tuesday night for you, but for me, no, it is not boring at all. It is quite an exceptional Tuesday night, actually.”

Harry twisted around on the floor, trying to sit more comfortably. “So, what have you been doing all these years then?”

Draco stared at his palms for a second. “Nothing remarkable.”

“Well, you had to do _something_ , if there is someone out there trying to poison you,” Potter finally stopped twisting and was now almost lying on the floor, his head close to Draco’s hip. Draco, looked down at him, unsure of where to put his hands as to not accidentally stroke Potter’s hair.

“I have no idea what I did, honestly! I don’t think I even talked to anyone in the last two years, beside Mother and some friends. Do you need a pillow or something?”

“No, I’m fine. I wonder maybe it’s someone with an old grudge then? Did you do something during the war?”

Draco moved away from Potter and didn’t reply. They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Potter sighed and got up to his feet.

“I didn’t try to accuse you of anything, Malfoy, I’m just trying to figure out who’d want to kill all these people, including you.”

Draco looked up at him. “Well, maybe no one wants to. Maybe I just _had a very bad tea_.”

“Must’ve been some tea if it killed two people in your proximity.”

Draco smirked. “You are enjoying yourself immensely, aren’t you? Seeing me like this.”

“No, that’s ridiculous, Malfoy, I don’t want you to get hurt,” Potter sat back on the floor, this time facing Draco. “I really don’t.” He paused. “I don’t want _anyone_ to get hurt.”

Draco stared into his face for a moment. “You have the floor stuck in your hair,” he shook off the dust from Harry’s head, rather unceremoniously.

“Thanks,” Potter scratched his head with his palm. “Look at that. Dawn.”

Draco looked at the window. The light was beginning to crawl from under the shades into the room. Harry got up to open them again, and, instantly, the room became illuminated. Draco watched Potter watching the sunrise, his dark silhouette surrounded by light. He remembered seeing a painting like that in an art gallery a lifetime ago. A woman stood with her back to the audience, waiting for someone at the window, watching intently, silently, frozen in space and time. Draco remembered watching the painting for what felt like hours, obsessively, hoping she would turn, hoping that whoever it was she was waiting for would come. No one ever did. She never moved. 

A kid at the gallery tried to poke the painting with his finger and called her boring, so Draco threw him into a wall. They had to leave the gallery after that. Draco was eight back then, but he remembered her vividly still.

He tried to pinpoint the exact emotion he was experiencing in that moment, watching Potter reenact a painting from his childhood, and couldn’t find a word for it. Finally, Harry turned to face him.

“What?” he asked, noticing the way Draco was staring at him. “Nobody’s coming, I guess. Let’s go to our room.”

Draco obliged, still thinking about the woman from the painting and the way Potter’s eyes changed color under different light. He concentrated on the nostalgia, forcing the second thought out of his mind.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry slept through the breakfast. Draco saved him some, as a thank you for the pie Harry had shared with him a couple of days ago; he wished he had a wand to transform the food into something more eatable, but Potter didn’t seem to be picky. In the late afternoon, the long overdue files on the employees and the patients were brought into their room by a Healer Draco had never seen before. There were so many of them their tiny room became instantly cluttered.

Draco took one of the files and looked through it; no connection to either of the dead men. He looked through another; nothing. After some consideration Draco decided to wait for Potter to wake up, hoping he would have a better system than reading through each and every of the three hundred files currently spread all over their floor.

Though Potter didn’t ask him to, Draco spent most of the morning keeping an eye on the room next door. After they had left it, Harry sent an owl to the Aurors Office, telling them to reopen the investigation; he didn’t give them any proper explanations, but, a couple of hours later, security was already hushing the janitor away from the door. 

Another Healer stopped by as if by accident, but came out empty-handed a second later. Draco made a quick sketch of the Healer’s face. She looked confused, which Draco found suspicious, though there wasn’t any sign of malice in her expression; most likely, she just misplaced her patient, which seemed to be a common situation at St. Mungo’s. Ms. Goldflower had apparently lost her way into their room permanently. 

Draco worried they had gotten to her as well, and even dug up her file from the pile to check if there was something suspicious in her biography. On paper, she sounded like a model citizen: thirteen years of working at St. Mungo’s, specializing in hexes; three children, all too young to be at Hogwarts; half-blood parents; no connection to the Death Eaters. During the war, she did what many did: hid with her family somewhere the Dark Lord wouldn’t find them unless he really wanted to, then came back to work right after the Battle to take care of the wounded. The youngest of her children was born during the war; a girl. Her husband, a Muggleborn, was one of the first to be accused of stealing the wand, but managed to escape with her. Everyone in her family survived, except her marriage, but that was none of Draco’s concern. 

Draco put her file away and, out of boredom, grabbed the next one, then the next, and the next. By the time Harry finally woke up, Draco had already looked through several dozens, about which Potter was informed immediately. Draco, who was in a bad mood all day long, now felt it was entirely Potter’s fault the files didn’t provide them a definite answer as to the identity of the mysterious killer. Not yet entirely awake, Harry slipped on the files spread on the floor and almost fell, which, Draco thought, illustrated perfectly their current situation, as well as Potter’s entire life. Potter said something incomprehensible and collected the files from the floor, dumping them on his bed without any discrimination. “I’ll still have to look through them myself,” he explained. “Ooh, breakfast!”

Draco shrugged. He really wanted to continue sulking, but Harry’s good mood and enthusiasm with which he began reading through the files were infectious. In a couple of minutes Draco gave up and informed Potter of everything that had been happening in the room next door while he was sleeping.

“I can’t believe they put security to the door!” Potter frowned. “That way we’ll never find out who it is. I need to tell them to leave the room alone. Want some cookies? Luna has sent me some.”

“What are they made of?” Draco was hesitant to eat anything Potter’s collection of weird friends had baked for him, but especially when it came to Looney Lovegood. He wondered for a second if those were imaginary cookies, when Harry produced a bag from under his bed and then looked at Draco as if he was drunk.

“Sugar and flour, I would think.”

“In that case, sure,” Draco carefully bit the tip of the cookie. Delicious. “It’s all right.”

“Of course it is,” Potter was stuffing his face with them. “So, what else happened while I was asleep?”

“Nothing much… Actually,” Draco paused. “I have a favor to ask you.”

“What kind of favor?” Harry took a sip from a glass of water. “Is this about the case?”

“No, not really,” Draco paused again. “Mother is coming to visit me later today.”

“Okay…”

“…And I didn’t tell her I’ve been put in one room with you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, I speak English pretty well, actually.”

“I mean I don’t want her to know you’re here,” Draco exclaimed.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Draco. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was so reluctant to inform Narcissa of Potter’s presence in his room; he couldn’t put it into words. It just felt _wrong_. “Can you just… go for a walk or something? Just for an hour or so.”

“Are you ashamed of being seen with me, Malfoy?” Potter smirked. Draco became red.

“I understand you have problems with the concept of privacy, Potter, but I —“

“All right, all right, calm down,” Potter continued smiling, staring at Malfoy as he tried to look anywhere but at Potter’s face. “Anyway, since the Healers keep telling me I need fresh air for my recovery I might as well take their advice.”

“Thank you.”

“You owe me one,” Potter made a serious face and proceeded to read the files.

“Put it on my tab,” Draco mumbled quietly, though Potter’s half-smirk indicated that he heard him.


	10. Chapter 10

Draco didn’t like having Narcissa visit him at St. Mungo’s. He tried to persuade her not to come, but the news about his neighbor’s unfortunate accident (or so the newspapers, apparently, called it) had finally reached her, and she was worried. Draco couldn’t say no, mostly because he didn’t have time. She sent him an urgent owl, telling him she’d stop by later this evening. Since the St. Mungo’s rules forbid the patients to have their own owls, the sending of letters was restricted to the mornings. Draco, distracted with watching the room next door, missed his window of opportunity.

When she came through the door, radiant and confident as ever, Draco realized just how badly he had missed her. Still, it was more than awkward; Narcissa pretended as if nothing had happened, as if he wasn’t at St. Mungo’s, but at home, with her. She made him tea and asked about the news. He tried to be as vague as possible. She asked him about his Healer. He told her she was nice.

That’s when Narcissa broke her facade.

“ _She_?” she asked him, startled. Draco straightened his back, alarmed by her tone.

“Yes, Ms. Goldflower. Why do you sound so surprised, Mother?”

“Oh, nothing! For some reason, I thought you had a male doctor. You surely mentioned it in one of your letters.” Narcissa looked away from him and stared at the window. “You have a nice view here, Draco. Do you get enough sun in this room?”

Draco knew he didn’t mention anything about his Healers in the letters. He didn’t like the way she tried to derail the conversation. Maybe he had spent too much time with Potter, but he couldn’t dare to brush it off as Narcissa’s bad memory. Draco was so tired of guessing and suspicion. If Mother knew something, _anything_ , about his former Healer, he needed to know what.

“Oh, yes, I do. And you’re right about my Healer. I have a new one now. The other one, Mr… Mr Hef —”

“Mr. Hefferson,” nodded Narcissa, still watching the window.

“Mother,” Draco put his hand on hers. “How do you know Mr. Hefferson?”

“I don’t,” Narcissa stared at him in surprise. “I just remembered his name, from your letters. So, you were saying something had happened to him?”

“Mother, I never told you his name.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t even know his name until yesterday. How could I possibly tell it to you, if I didn’t know it?”

Narcissa bit her lip. “Draco, I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me. Maybe I heard this name when I was admitting you here. I just remembered it, that’s all.”

“Mother, how do you know Mr. Hefferson?” Draco repeated, now convinced that Narcissa was lying to him.

“Draco, why are you so upset?”

“Just tell me, who was he! Mother, please.”

“Was?..” Narcissa’s eyes rounded in confusion. Draco tried to stop himself from slipping further, but he couldn’t bare it any longer. He _needed_ to tell her everything, a need so urgent it was burning his tongue.

“He is dead!” Draco exclaimed. “He is dead,” he repeated, scratching his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but someone killed him, Mother. I don’t know why. Someone killed my neighbor, too. It wasn’t an accident. Someone threw him out of the window,” Draco wanted to stop talking, to spare Narcissa of the awful things he had witnessed over the past two days, but something inside him broke. “I saw his body on the ground. I —-” Draco scratched his eyes again, to stop the tears. He wanted for Narcissa to help him make sense of everything, but, more than that, he wanted to lie on her lap and pretend it was all just a bad dream. 

_“This was just a bad dream, love,”_ Narcissa used to tell him when he was little, hiding under her blanket after a particularly terrible nightmare. “Bad dreams are nothing more than fears of the mind. A dream is a great storyteller, but not an honest one. It traps you in its world and makes you think it is real, but all you need to do to destroy it is to wake up. When you’re awake, nothing can hurt you anymore, not even the scariest of all dreams.”

Draco wondered if she remembered all the lies she ever told to protect him. He wondered what lies he was still living with.

Narcissa stroke his head and put it on her shoulder. She hugged him tightly, lovingly, and kissed the top of his head. Then she let go.

“It is not safe for you here, Draco, we need to leave. Now.”

Her voice was soft and quiet, but Draco recognized a familiar tension in her jaw.

“Mother, I’m not leaving here until you tell me everything you know about Hefferson.”

Narcissa stood up and stared him in the eye for a moment; Draco didn’t look away.

“Fine,” she said finally. “I’ve read about him in the Daily Prophet sometime around your father’s sentencing. Hefferson was working with victims of the war, did you know that? He was helping them move on, put the past behind them. I didn’t pay much attention to that article about him back then, but when you got sick the second time, Draco, I called St. Mungo’s and asked for him. You needed help, my love. You almost burned yourself to death. And I didn’t know what to do, Draco. I didn’t know whom to talk to. You wouldn’t talk to me. I—- I wanted so much to help you.”

Draco gulped and, almost unconsciously, stroke his Mark. “I feel much better now, Mother. You helped me a lot.”

Narcissa sat down next to him. Her voice was quiet. Draco felt she was on the verge of crying, but didn’t dare to look at her. She continued.

“Mr. Hefferson met with me. I found him to be very understanding and discreet. Still, I didn’t want to tell him anything that could be used against us, so I lied about who I was… I tried to tell him as little as possible, but he filled out the gaps himself. I wanted him to help you, so I kept meeting with him… maybe five or six times. He wanted to talk to you personally, but I was against it, of course. He cautioned me that you might get worse again, but I didn’t want to believe it.”

“I didn’t get worse. It wasn’t me.”

“Of course,” Narcissa nodded. “I believe you, son, but when I found you on the floor, unconscious… I thought you were dead. I couldn’t bear to lose you like this. I would do anything to protect you, Draco, even when it is yourself you need the protection from.”

“So, you talked to him again?” The pieces were beginning to fall together now. That is why he was on the wrong floor, why Hefferson treated him so differently, why he wouldn’t believe Draco when he told him he was poisoned. Draco felt a wave rush through him. He closed his eyes.

“I did,” Narcissa said quietly. “I told him everything. He made sure you were under his care. Your letters made it sound like you were doing so well. I had no idea Hefferson died. I don’t even know what he had planned for you. I’m sorry.”

Draco snickered lightly. “He gave me a roommate. That was his plan for me.”

Narcissa frowned. “A roommate? How was that supposed to help you?”

Draco scratched his neck, unsure how to explain this to her. “I think… Hefferson thought I needed to talk to someone who would understand. Maybe he thought I was looking for forgiveness? Absolution? I wasn’t, really. All I wanted was to find whoever poisoned me, but he wouldn’t listen. He gave me a roommate, and then… well, then he died.”

“Where is your roommate now?” Narcissa tensed up. “Who is he?”

Draco laughed, a short, angry laugh. “Harry Potter, if you can believe that. He’s taking a walk right now, but he’ll be back soon.”

Narcissa stared at him, her mouth slightly open. “I’m so sorry, Draco. That was unforgivably wrong of me, to trust this charlatan. Let’s go home now.”

Draco pursed his lips. He couldn’t believe what he was about to say.

“I can’t. Mother, I have to stay here. I need to figure out what happened to him… Just give me one more night, all right? I’ll be back home tomorrow morning, I promise.”

“Draco…” Narcissa sighed, unconvinced. “It’s not safe for you here.”

Draco shook his head. _No, it is. It is the safest place for me to be right now. Nobody’s going to touch me here, under Potter’s nose. Nobody will dare._ “I’ll come home in the morning. I promise.” Draco paused. “I love you, Mother. Everything will be fine.”

He hugged Narcissa firmly and kissed her cheek. She stroke his hair again, then his cheek, his chin. Then she smiled, with her mouth, but not her eyes, and waved him goodbye.

After she left, Draco waited for five minutes and then put on his Cloak. Potter must be freezing outside, in the dark. Maybe he had already found the killer among those files he had taken with him, and was now organizing his arrest. Maybe Draco could be home before dinner.

Draco hoped, against himself, that Harry hadn’t found anything.


	11. Chapter 11

While looking for Potter in the dark park on the St. Mungo’s premises, Draco contemplated telling him about his mother’s connection to Hefferson. On one hand, it didn’t seem to bear any direct relevance to the case and, therefore, was none of Potter’s business; on another, Draco liked the idea of having discovered the missing pieces all by himself, and wanted to tell Harry how it all fitted together. 

… _Then again, maybe it is relevant_ , Draco thought. _Maybe Hefferson’s connection to Mother is the missing link, somehow? Maybe —_

_…No, no, it is none of his concern. Why would I even think about telling him about it?_

_…Or, maybe, I should just casually mention Hefferson was Mother’s acquaintance, and leave it at that._

_…Then how will I explain why I didn’t even know his name?_

_…No, it’s easier just not mention him at all._

Having decided, Draco turned around and strode towards their bench, though it looked abandoned at this time of night.

“Potter, are you there?” Draco whispered loudly, feeling rather stupid talking to an empty bench.

 Potter’s head, and then the rest of him, appeared from under the Cloak.

 "Why are you hiding?” Draco looked around in confusion. The park was almost empty; Potter was being either overly paranoid, or too obsessed with his, frankly ridiculous, Invisibility Cloak. “Are those files sticking out from under your Cloak? Merlin, how can you even see anything here, it’s almost pitch black.”

 “Yes, I’ve been reading, and I can see just fine with this,” Potter showed him a small black object in his hand. “I had Hermione send it to me, just in case we need to go back to that room in a middle of the night again.”

 “What is this?” Draco squinted, trying to see exactly what Potter was holding. It looked like a black smooth stick, way too thick to be a wand. A torch, maybe?

 “It’s a flashlight,” Potter said in a matter-of-factly voice and twisted the device in his hand. Then he touched it with his big finger. Light. Dark. Light again. “It’s a Muggle substitute for, you know, the Lumos and Nox charms.”

 “I know what a _flash light_ is,” scoffed Draco, though he had never seen a flashlight in his life. “Why do you need it again?”

 “Because we have no wands and it is dark outside? And inside, if we are breaking into someone else’s room.”

 “Right,” Draco took the flashlight from Potter. “Well, it doesn’t work for me.”

 “You need to push the button.”

 “I’m pushing it. It doesn’t work.”

 “No, you have to push it harder, until it clicks. Here,” Harry pressed his finger on top of Draco’s. “Now it’s working.”

 “Great,” Draco tried to sound as unimpressed as possible. “How do I make it go dark again?”

 “You push the button,” Potter squinted his eyes and turned away from Draco. “And stop pointing it in my face.”

 Draco pushed the button again and handed the flashlight back to Harry, who promptly put it in his pocket. “So! Found anything interesting?”

 “Interesting — yes; relevant — no,” Potter had finished collecting the files and was now standing next to Draco, indicating his readiness to go back. “It’s all useless anyway. I won’t find anything in these files; the best option is to wait for the killer to come back for the body. So let’s go back before they decide to do just that and we will have missed them.” Without waiting for Draco’s response, Potter turned around and began marching toward the building.

 He didn’t ask anything about Narcissa, which, Draco thought, was a clear sign that the decision not to tell him about Hefferson had been the right one. He wondered if Hefferson really was a charlatan, or just that naive. Did he really think they would get together and just talk it all out?

 Draco wouldn’t even know where to begin.

 

***

 As soon as they entered the room, Potter jumped to his knees and pushed the files he had taken with him under the bed.

“What, you’re not going to check any more of them?” Draco asked while taking off his Cloak.

 “Nah,” Potter pushed one stubborn file with his foot. “We have to lure the killer in somehow. We’ll figure it out tomorrow, let’s just go sleep, I’m exhausted.”

 “Yes, about that…” Draco gulped. “I won’t be here tomorrow. I’m leaving.”

 “What? _Now_? Where will you go?”

 “Um, home? Tomorrow morning. I promised Mother.”

 “But we’re so close to solving it!” Potter exclaimed.

 “We are nowhere near solving it,” Draco looked at him, confused by his reaction. _What does_ he _care if I leave now?_   “You just stuck the only evidence we have under the bed. _The second time_ , if you count Hefferson.”

 “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

 “Oh, you know what it means! He deserves better than lying there under that bed! We gotta tell someone about him… No one’s coming back for him, Harry, no one. Like I told you before, whoever murdered both of them is long gone by now.”

 “Fine,” Potter sat down on Draco’s bed. “Fine, maybe the killer’s gone. But what about _you_? Do you think you’re going to be safe at home where you were bloody poisoned?”

 Draco stared at him for a second. “Well, I can’t exactly live with you forever now, can I?”

 “Merlin, Malfoy, why do you keep trying to get yourself killed? I’m trying to help you here.”

 Draco snickered.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “You have something to say, say it.”

 “What are you even doing here?” Draco looked at him with a facial expression that he hoped represented contempt. “You arrive cut in pieces by a spell, stay in a room with a dead man and no wand waiting for a murderer to come back, and _I’m_ the one trying to get myself killed?” Draco wanted to stop now, but something inside of him had broken. He sneered again, rather maliciously. “You are the one who needs help, Potter. You’re the one who’s going to get himself killed if you keep doing what you’re doing the way you’re doing it. You know that, right? As fas as I know, you are not immortal.”

 “ _What I’m doing_ ,” Potter scoffed and got up from Draco’s bed. “What I’m doing is saving people from _your_ friends. So I definitely don’t need any help from _you_ ,” Harry added something illegible and walked away into the bathroom.

 “And I don’t need any help from _you_ , Potter!” screamed Draco, knowing that Harry couldn’t hear him with water running in the shower. “Idiot,” he added quietly and closed his eyes.

 The water continued to run when Draco heard the doorknob twist. _Where are you going now?_ Draco opened his eyes. A figure in a black Cloak was standing next to the door, the face hidden in the dark. “Potter, don’t go without me!” he tried to say to the figure, but suddenly discovered himself to be completely paralyzed. He tried to resist it, but it was too late: the spell had already taken a hold of him. The cloaked figure pointed a wand at him, and then began walking toward the bathroom. 

 As Draco lay in bed, silent and petrified, only one thought crossed his mind: _Potter’s going to get killed, and there is nothing I can do._

 But the figure passed the bathroom and, after a quick spell on the door, came back to his bed and pointed the wand at him once more. After that, every conscious thought had left Draco’s body, replaced by an excruciating pain. Convulsing on his bed, he tried to scream, but couldn’t. He wished to die, he wished he was dead, he wished someone would finally kill him.

 Then the pain stopped, replaced by a sudden rush of joy and happiness. Draco had never felt so in peace before. He wondered for a second if that’s what being dead felt like, but his heartbeat was too loud in his ears. His body was still shivering from the shock, but he was alive. Or was he? He didn’t care any longer.

 “Get up,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Follow me.”

 Draco obliged. He knew immediately he would do anything that voice told him to. Finally, he was completely free of everything he ever had to carry inside of himself: all the guilt, all the pain, all the unrequited love were gone. One word, and Draco was cleansed of everything he ever was, left in a state of pure bliss. One word and one swish of the wand. _Imperio!_

 The water in the bathroom stopped running.

 “Go!” the voice whispered at him again, and Draco obediently turned the doorknob.

 “Draco, resist it!” he heard Potter’s distant screams through the ringing in his ears. “ _Resist it!_ ”

 Draco opened the door and stepped out of the room into the dark hallway.

 Somewhere far away he heard the voice command “ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ” and then the sound of a body falling down on the floor. Draco didn’t turn around to watch. He needed to go. The voice finally told him what he needed to do, and Draco wanted so much to oblige. 

 He entered the hallway without any contemplation, his very self disappearing with every step. By the time his body had reached the staircase, he was simply _gone_.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Draco woke up disoriented, lying on someone’s knees. His body felt like a troll had fallen on top of him, and he had a distinct feeling that something was dripping in his eyes. He touched his forehead. Blood.

“Try not to move,” whispered Potter’s voice. Draco ignored his advice and attempted to sit down, but the pain forced him back on Harry’s knees.

“Why am I bleeding?” Draco touched his face again. His left eyebrow felt sticky and warm.

“You got hit on the head.” Harry grabbed a corner of his Cloak and cleaned Draco’s bloody face. “How many fingers do you see?” He almost shoved his fingers in Draco’s eye.

“Four.”

"You have a concussion then. I’m sorry. Give me a minute, I’ll help you get downstairs.”

“Where are we? What happened?”

“On the rooftop. You were under the Imperius Curse, do you remember?”

“No,” Draco moaned out the answer and closed his eyes. “What… what are we doing here?”

“He brought you here. I ran after you, tried to stop you... Had to knock you out.”

“Wait... So, it was _you_ who beat me up?!”

“You beat me up as well!” Harry’s words sounded defensive, but his tone of voice was light, almost as if he was smiling. “Why do you think we’re both still sitting here.”

“Who was it?”

“Some guy. I couldn’t see his face. He threw some Curses at me, tried to stop me, I suppose… When that didn’t work, he ran.”

“You didn’t…” Draco finally found the strength to move slightly and was now looking up at Potter. Harry’s eye was swollen and there were visible bruises on his neck. “You didn’t go after him?”

“Well, I couldn’t, given that you were beating the living crap out of me. You were very determined. I had to hit you with my flashlight.”

“So that’s why my head feels like it’s been broken in half then.”

“In my defense, I tried to talk you out of it, but you were too far gone. I don’t think you even heard me. Of course, it is quite hard to speak legibly when someone is trying to strangle you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Harry shrugged. “He got away though. I didn’t see his face. Could’ve been anyone. Don’t know if we even _should_ go back right now. Might run into him downstairs, and won’t even recognize him.”

“I saw his face,” Draco mumbled. “I will recognize him.”

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“I…”

“Hey! Stay with me!” Potter slapped Draco’s cheek. “Open your eyes!”

“I…” whispered Draco and lost consciousness.

 

***

When Draco came to, Harry was on top of him, breathing heavily.

“Hey! Hey! You’re back, oh, thank God.”

“How long was I unconscious for?” Draco finally managed to sit up. “I had the most strangest dream…”

“Just for a few minutes. You were saying something before you blacked out, do you remember?”

“I was saying I saw his face. I recognized him… Can’t remember.”

“Lay down, Draco, don’t push yourself.”

“I think… I think it was the janitor. I saw him trying to enter Selwyn’s room before. Yes… Yes, I’m convinced now that it was him. Go!”

“Go where?” Harry looked startled.

“Go catch him, of course!”

“I’m not leaving you here,” to illustrate his point, Harry moved closer and put Draco’s head on top of his knees again.

“But you have to. He’ll get away.”

“He won’t. I won’t leave you here.”

“Then let’s go together.”

“Your head is still bleeding. I might’ve fractured one of your ribs. Here, does it hurt?”

“Ow!” Draco moaned loudly, more demonstratively than out of pain.

“I’m sorry,” Harry took his hand away and put it awkwardly on Draco’s shoulder.

Draco rolled his eyes and lied down on Harry’s knees again. The sky was starless, the Moon shinning bleakly through the black clouds. “Well, no one’s going to come look for us here. Sooner or later, we will need to go downstairs. I think it might start raining soon.”

“I can’t carry you. I tried, but I think my wrist is broken. They _will_ find us. _Eventually_. It’s not that big of a building.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco felt like passing out again. “Why? Why _me_?”

“I wish I knew.”

“What, he didn’t shout out a confession or anything like that?”

Harry chuckled. “No, he did not. Well, actually, he asked me why I was helping you.”

“And why is that?”

Harry frowned. “You know why, Draco, I wasn’t going to sit idly by while some asshole’s trying to kill a friend of mine?”

“Me? A Harry Potter’s friend? I’m flattered,” Draco tried to smirk, but his face hurt. “Is that what you told him?”

“I didn’t talk to him, I was busy talking to you. Should’ve talked to him more, now that I think about it. Maybe I could’ve gotten something out of him. You don’t remember anything?”

“Bits and pieces. He kept speaking in riddles, told me, you reap what you sow. I don’t know. Let’s go back to me being your friend.”

Potter chuckled. “Don’t let it get to your head, Malfoy.”

“No, no takebacks,” Draco mumbled. “I am your friend. I wanted to be your friend for a while… Then I didn’t. Or maybe I did, I can’t remember. Do you remember?”

“You have a concussion, Draco, stop talking.”

“No… No, I feel fine.” Draco’s voice was husky and broken. “Come on. If we leave now, we can still make it into the morning papers. Harry Potter’s friend — saved, justice — restored!” 

“It did get to your head, didn’t it,” Harry smiled. 

Draco sneered back. “I know you’re just saying all that to make me feel better, because you broke half of my bones.”

“I don’t, and you’re exaggerating.”

“No, I’m telling you how I feel,” grumbled Draco. “Not everyone is as stoic as you are. Your wrist is broken, and you act like you don’t care. I can’t do that. My head hurts like hell, and you definitely have broken at least a quarter of my bones,” Draco twisted around, trying to sit more comfortably. “This is how I feel right now. And you, apparently, feel nothing at all.”

“I’m not stoic,” Harry pursed his lips. “And I know all about headaches, all right, Voldemort had been giving me them for seven years straight. I am sorry I hit you on the head, but it was the only way to stop you from killing us both.”

“I understand that,” Draco said in a serious tone of voice. “I am sorry too.” He was feeling lightheaded again; Harry’s face began to blur, and, in a desperate attempt to hold on, Draco grabbed him by the shoulder.

Harry, who misinterpreted Draco’s move as an apology sign, made a face, _“Whatever, it’s fine,”_ and slapped his own hand on top of Draco’s. Finally, Draco understood. Potter didn’t _not_ feel pain; on the contrary, he had felt pain so profound he now believed he had tamed it. He didn’t consider getting a bruise or a parchment cut a painful experience; he didn’t consider getting splinched in three places to be a painful experience. Pain was a part of his life for so long he wasn’t paying any attention to it anymore.

Draco didn’t know what he should feel, jealousy or pity. For him, each new pain was a new addition to the summary of the previous ones. He felt it so intently, so profoundly, that, at times, when he couldn’t feel anything else, he welcomed it as his closest friend. Pain reminded Draco that he was alive; Harry, on the other hand, had other reminders.

“Does your scar still hurt?” Draco asked quietly, after a pause.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Mine do sometimes. There are times when I look at my Mark and I think I see the serpent move. I can stare at it for hours. Mother, she bought me the gloves so I wouldn’t look at it, but she left the mirrors in the restrooms, because, I reckon, you can’t have one without a mirror… Of course, there are other scars to look at as well…” Draco stared at Harry for a second, to see if he knew what Draco meant. Harry looked down at his knees.

“All these days we lived together,” Draco continued, whispering quietly, “have you ever seen me naked, Potter?” He grabbed Harry’s hand and traced Harry’s finger along his Adam’s apple and lower down the neck. “I mean, my chest, my back, my collarbones… Have you seen it?”

“No.”

“Yeah… Anyway, believe me when I say this, I am glad that your scar doesn’t hurt anymore,” Draco let go of Potter’s hand.

“It does,” said Harry quietly. “Sometimes. I have these dreams… I get confused when I wake up. Not sure if I am awake or asleep.”

“So what do you do?”

“Recall the day before. What I ate, whom I talked to, these kinds of things. It doesn’t happen very often.”

“And the scar?” Draco got up from Potter’s lap and was now staring him right in the eye.

“It only hurts in the dreams,” Potter returned the gaze. “If you’re feeling better, we can try going downstairs.” Potter grabbed Draco by the waist and threw his hand over his shoulder. “Come on.” 

Draco complied and grabbed Harry tighter, fingers digging into his shoulder. Together, they exited the rooftop, climbed down the abandoned dusty staircase, and, finally, got blinded by the bright lights of the St. Mungo’s hallways. Draco watched Harry; eye bruised, blue marks on his neck, bloody lip, but still, he carried him relentlessly, not letting go. 

Draco watched Harry, and Harry watched him, smiling shyly, or maybe reluctantly, or maybe it was Draco’s concussion that made him imagine things.

Draco watched Harry as if the very ground had disappeared from under their feet, as if all the walls have finally fallen down, as if Harry and him were the only people left in the world.

But they weren’t. 

In the dark corner of the hallway, hidden in the shadows of the closed for the night gift shop, someone else was watching them as well.


	13. Chapter 13

Everything happened so fast Draco had no time to react. Before the killer could even take out his wand, Harry let go of Draco, pushing him on the floor, and then sprinted towards the gift shop, pressing the janitor against the wall with his whole body. 

“Grab the wand, Draco!” Harry screamed, twisting the man’s arm so that the wand could fall out of his hand. Still in shock, Draco almost crawled up to them and handed the wand to Harry.

“ _Incarcerous_!” Potter swished the wand. Tied up, the man fell down before Harry’s feet. “All right, now we can talk.”

“You’re Harry Potter,” the man muttered. “You defeated the You-Know-Who. What are you doing?”

Harry swished the wand again and threw the prisoner on one of the appeared chairs. Then he turned to Draco, who was still sitting on the floor. 

“How are you feeling?” Harry helped him get up and sit on the second chair.

“Terrible,” Draco confessed.

“Well, your head stopped bleeding. Do you want me to —-“

“Are you comfortable with this wand?” Draco replied unsurely, knowing what Harry had in mind. “I am rather fond of my bones, you know.”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned the wand on himself. “ _Episkey_! See? All bones in the right places.”

“Fine.” 

Harry repeated the procedure on Draco’s ribs, though he still wouldn’t let him touch his head. ( _“We are quite literally at St. Mungo’s, Harry, I think I can find a better Healer just be shouting loudly.” “Suit yourself then. Just… Don’t shout right now, please.” “I wasn’t going to.” “All right then.”_ ) The prisoner tried, by the looks of it, to comment on their discussion, but was prevented by Potter’s silencing spell. 

Though a big man, the prisoner looked smaller now, like a cornered animal, caught, defeated. Harry stared at him for a minute, not saying anything at all, as though contemplating if the man was even worth the trouble. He whimpered under Harry’s stare and looked down. 

Draco caught his breath. It finally dawned on him just how threatening Harry must’ve looked to others. Sometimes he let himself forget that the boy he knew since they were children, the boy who just yesterday was eating a cold breakfast with his mouth half-open and slipping on papers thrown around the room was the same boy who killed Voldemort. _The same boy,_ Draco thought, _who threw Sectumsempra at me to bleed out on a bathroom floor_. Draco quietly breathed out.  

“I am going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them, all right?” Harry swished the wand again, returning the prisoner’s voice. “What is your name?”

“Nigelius Brown,” replied the man hoarsely. “You’re making a mistake, Mr. Potter. He…”

“Have you,” Harry interrupted him, “used an Unforgivable on Mr. Draco Malfoy today, in order to get him to the rooftop of this building?”

“Two,” whispered Draco.

 “Two?” Harry turned to him.

 “He used two Unforgivables on me,” Draco specified, staring at Brown, whose eyes were wide in shock.

 “No… Yes, yes, I did, but…”

 “Have you,” Potter interrupted him again, “attempted to use an Unforgivable on me today?”

 “Yes, but I _had_ to, you were…”

 “Are you aware that any use of the Unforgivable Curses is against the Wizarding Law and therefore is a criminal offense?”

 “Yes,” said the man quietly. “Yes, I am.”

 “Do you confess in trying to previously kill Draco Malfoy by poison as well?”

 “Yes.”

 “Do you also confess in killing Mr. Jack Hefferson and Mr. Polonius Selwyn?”

 “No! No, I didn’t…”

 Draco stared at Harry in shock. Harry looked surprised. “No?”

“You got it all wrong! All wrong!” Brown was almost crying. “Yes, I used the Unforgivable on him,” Brown nodded toward Draco, his face brimming with contempt. “And I would do it again! After what _he_ did to my child…”  

“I don’t even _know_ you!” Draco exclaimed in fury. “What child?!”

“Draco, please be quiet.”

“Harry, he’s lying!” Draco got up from his chair. “You are lucky I don’t have a wand, or I swear to Merlin I would…”

 “Draco!” Harry hissed louder. “Don’t threaten him! Sit down!”

 Draco reluctantly returned to his chair and punched it with his foot. The pain echoed in his head and he had to bit his lip to prevent himself from yelping, but it was worth it. The chair creaked and almost fell.

 “Now,” Harry ignored Draco’s fight with the furniture. “Explain to me what you mean. What child? What did Draco do to you?”

 “Not in front of _him_ ,” Brown nodded toward Draco. “And if he threatens me again, I will…”

 Potter sighed. “ _He_ is not going anywhere. And neither are you. So tell me what you wanted to tell me before I call up the rest of the Aurors and ship you off to Azkaban for double murder and multiple accounts of performing the Unforgivables.”

 Brown sneered. “ _Great Harry Potter_. Protecting the Death Eaters. I heard rumors you were siding with You-Know-Who, but I never would’ve thought… How stupid was I, to actually believe all those tales about a Boy Who Lived. A child surviving the Killing Curse. Ha! Nothing but a Ministry sanctioned lie.”

 “He is sitting right in front of you with a scar on his forehead, you idiot!” Draco demonstratively pointed to Harry’s head. “Hundreds of people saw him defeating the Dark Lord! I guess you weren’t there! Harry, are you really going to listen to this _janitor_ spinning you this nonsense?”

 Harry moved closer to Brown. “What child?”

 “My son… He took him,” Brown looked at Draco with malice in his eyes. “Snatched him from my house. Put him under the Imperius Curse, made her a Death Eater… He died at Hogwarts…” Brown whimpered. “Nineteen years old…”

 “I am sorry about your son,” Harry said quietly. “Are you sure it was Draco who took him?”

 “I didn’t take no one’s son!” Draco wanted to yell, but Harry shot him a look before he could open his mouth: _I know it wasn’t you, but don’t interrupt me._

 “I _know_ it was him. Polonius told me. They took him to his Manor… Who knows what they have done to him there. Him and his father… Monsters.”

 “Polonius? Polonius _Selwyn_ told you that?”

 “Yes, he did,” whimpered Brown. “They did the same to him.”

 “Oh, brother,” Draco put his head in his hands. “Unbelievable.”

 “Mr. Brown, Polonius Selwyn was a Death Eater.”

 “No. No! He was under the Imperius Curse! They proved it in Court!”

 Harry shook his head. “Only because they couldn’t find a witness in time, and wanted to close the case as soon as possible. You’ve been lied to.”

 “No!” Brown stared at Harry in horror. “No, it can’t be! I don’t believe you!”

 “Mr. Brown…”

 “Liars! You are all liars!” Brown fell to his knees, convulsing hysterically, tears streaming down his cheeks. Potter was watching him closely, his lips pursed, his palm on his forehead. Draco tried to pinpoint the emotion on Harry’s face; something between pity and apathy, as if he’s seen this many, too many, times before.

 Unable to watch anymore, Draco turned away.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Having calmed down, Brown was finally able to tell them a somewhat comprehensible story which led to today’s events. It took Draco all the remaining strength not to interrupt him to add snide remarks. Draco felt uncomfortable just sitting next to the man; he caught himself fantasizing about a killer he should’ve gotten instead. Surely, it had to be someone strong and dangerous, an incredibly powerful wizard, someone like the Dark Lord himself. Not a broken, confused old man sitting in front of him.

Ashamed of his thoughts, Draco bit his lip.

After his son had disappeared from their house, Brown told them, he tried to find him for months, with no luck. He hoped, or rather, convinced himself that his son had been somehow forced to run away abruptly, before he was able to warn his father, and then hid somewhere safe, somewhere the Death Eaters couldn’t find him. Every day, Brown would wake up early in the morning and bake his son’s favorite pie, waiting for him to come home.

He never did.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, he read in the Daily Prophet the list of the identified Death Eaters, whose bodies had been found on the premises, and was shocked to discover his son’s name among them. He didn’t believe the newspapers, never did, but still, he went to identify the body.

It was his son. His body was crashed by what looked like a statue, or a troll. He had a Dark Mark on his arm, and a large ugly scar on his cheek, as if from a knife wound.

Brown drowned the news of his son’s death and his family’s shame in alcohol for three years, before a stranger at a bar approached him and bought him a drink.

His name was Polonius Selwyn. After hearing Brown’s story about his son, Selwyn confessed to him that he had just been released from Azkaban, where he served two years for being under the Imperius Curse. He asked Brown for a photograph of his son. Upon seeing it, he exclaimed: “I knew that boy!”, and proceeded to tell him about a favored by the Death Eaters recruiting technique: catch them, torture them for information, then use the Imperius Curse and make them die for your war.

“Name,” Brown asked Selwyn. “I need the name.”

“The Malfoys,” replied Selwyn. “Their Manor was the You-Know-Who’s home during the war. Everyone was taken there. The father and the son, they are responsible.” ( _“Absurd! My father didn’t even have a wand, and you stole mine!”_ Draco whispered to Harry, but only got hushed at in reply.)

“Thank you,” said Brown. But as he was about to leave, Selwyn whispered to him an offer he could not refuse.

“I’ll help you get your revenge,” said Selwyn, “if you help me get mine.”

The plan was simple. Selwyn’s tormenter, the one who put him under the Imperius and _made him torture and kill those innocent Muggleborns,_ was now pretending to be a Healer and went by the name of Hefferson. Brown was to find a job at St. Mungo’s and locate him, and then help Selwyn to get admitted on the right floor. For that, Selwyn promised to deliver him Draco Malfoy, since his father was already in Azkaban for his atrocities.

The plan went awry when Selwyn’s poison didn’t kill Draco instantly. Still, he convinced Brown that Malfoy would have no choice but to go to St. Mungo’s. All Brown had to do was hold up his end of the bargain, and wait.

Brown, who had been working at St. Mungo’s for nearly two months now, finally managed to locate elusive Hefferson. Per Selwyn’s request, he cursed him in what looked like a bar fight. By sheer luck, he was placed next door to Draco.

Brown helped lure Hefferson into the room and gave Selwyn his wand. However, when he returned for it, Selwyn was no longer his old self.

“He,” Brown nodded at Draco, “must’ve overpowered him and put him under the Imperius Curse. Polonius, he was just… Crazy! Laughing and laughing, calling me names… I asked for my wand back, but he just kept on laughing.”

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but instead just waved his hand at him. _Unbelievable_.

“How did he die?” Harry asked patiently.

Brown whimpered. “It was an accident! He was coming at me, and… and… The window was wide open, you know, as if someone left it open on purpose, and he tried to force me out of it. We started fighting, and I grabbed my wand from him, and then I blasted a spell… I didn’t mean to, I swear! I just wanted to paralyze him, but he tripped and fell out. So I ran. I ran, and I didn’t come back until the following morning… Pretended I wasn’t there.”

“What about Hefferson? Was it you who hid him? Did you take my Cloak?”

“The day before Polonius died, when I was cleaning your room… I found an Invisibility Cloak in one of the bags. I assumed it was Malfoy’s, it looked so expensive… I gave it to Polonius to hide Hefferson’s body.”

“And that he did,” added Draco. He looked at Brown with hatred. “Got him rolled up all nicely under the bed.”

“He wanted revenge. We _deserved_ revenge!” 

“He wanted to get rid of the only witness who could prove he was a real Death Eater, you fool!” Draco got to his feet, his whole body shivering with rage. “Your good friend Selwyn almost tortured him to death, but he survived… He survived, and you let him straight back to his tormentor.”

Brown looked at Draco, then at Potter. Harry stayed silent.

“Is this true?” Brown whispered plaintively.

“Yes,” Harry said coldly. “You trusted the wrong person, Mr. Brown, and he coerced you into committing a murder of a war hero.”

“Selwyn was probably the one who took your son in the first place,” spitefully added Draco.

Brown was shuddering and gasping for air, tears streaming down his cheeks and onto the ropes.

“Take me away,” he mumbled quietly. “Take me to Azkaban.”

“All right,” Harry said, and grabbed Brown by his hand. “Let’s go.”

“I’m sorry!” cried out Brown, before both of them Apparated away.

Alone, Draco sat in the hallway for a while, and then got up and went back to his room. The sun was already coming up. 

It was time for him to come home.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry returned in an hour, knocked on the door as if it wasn’t his room as well. Draco opened the door and went back to bed in silence.

Harry sat next to him, looked him over, touched his forehead.

“You need to get your head checked,” he said quietly.

“That’s for certain,” Draco chuckled without smiling. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I mean it, Draco. Are you still planning on leaving today?”

“Just as soon as someone gives me my wand back,” Draco fixed the pillow and lied down on the bed, head on his hands.

“That’s my bed,” Harry noted, taking his Invisibility Cloak from under the pillow. “Yours is the other one.”

“I have no strength left in me to move,” Draco frowned and put the blanket over his chest. “I have a concussion, you know.”

“I’m not asking you to. You can stay here, if you like.”

“You can take mine, if you want to,” Draco yawned. “Or,” he moved slightly to the left, “lie down here for all I care.”

Harry contemplated his offer for a second, then, carefully, as to not touch Draco, lied down next to him.

“Some day, huh,” Draco said, staring at the ceiling.

“Just another day at the office,” Harry replied without emotion.

“If that is not an overstatement,” Draco turned around to face Harry, “then I don’t know how you handle it. Listening to stories like this every day… If I were you, I would just quit.”

“ _Quit_ ,” chuckled Harry. “I can’t do that. I wanted to be an Auror all my life.”

“Do you still want to be an Auror?”

“I don’t know,” confessed Harry. “What else would I do?”

“I don’t know, train dragons. Play Quidditch. Become a professor, like Longbottom. Go travel somewhere far away, where nobody knows you,” Draco stared at Harry’s scar. _Is he still wearing the same glasses? No, it can’t be._

“Why aren’t you doing that?”

“Oh, I’m too famous, everyone knows me everywhere,” Draco smiled.

“Shut up.”

“Fine. Well, let’s see. One,” Draco counted with his fingers, “I can’t train dragons because that would be insane, they are terrifying. Two, well, I can play Quidditch, but it’s too late to start doing it professionally, so why bother…”

“Why are you suggesting this to me then?”

“…Three, McGonagall would never let me teach at Hogwarts…”

“…Probably true,” Harry gave a short chuckle.

“And four, well, I can’t leave Mother alone, not until Father’s released,” concluded Draco.

“So your plan is to what, not do anything at all?”

“Pretty much,” smiled Draco and fell back on the pillow.

“That sounds like a terrible plan.”

“Well, planning is not my strongest suit.”

“You don’t say.”

“Maybe I should join you. Become an Auror. You can send me undercover.”

“Would you really want to do that?”

“No,” sneered Draco. “What, you’re saying I could?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Harry smiled absently.

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, you threatened a suspect with murder not longer than two hours ago.”

“He tried to kill me first!”

“They usually do that!” Harry laughed.

“Piss off,” Draco pretended to frown and then hit Harry with a pillow.

“I see you’re feeling better.”

“No, there are still two of you lying there,” Draco looked at Potter, the pillow in his hands. “A hideous sight.”

“Well, don’t stare then,” Harry grabbed the pillow and put it under his head. “Go to your own bed.”

“No, I think I am going to stay right here,” Draco said softly and put his head next to Harry’s shoulder.

“We should really get your head checked,” Harry whispered hoarsely.

“We sure do,” breathed Draco into Harry’s neck and closed his eyes.

Carefully, as to not disturb him, Harry covered Draco with blanket with his free hand. Harry’s neck was so close Draco was almost touching it with his lips, but he didn’t care. He wanted to sleep so badly.

He could’ve sworn he was dreaming already, if not for Harry’s collarbone digging into his chin. 

 

***

Ms. Goldflower, who finally had decided to actually do her job, woke them up at eight in the morning. They were still sleeping in one bed, full clothes on, even the shoes. She coughed loudly three times to announce her presence.

“He has a concussion,” Harry said in a casual tone of voice. “We caught the man who killed Mr. Hefferson. It was your janitor, Mr. Brown. I already have him in custody.”

“That’s…” unsurely replied Ms. Goldflower. “I was certain you’d catch him. Let me see your head, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco reluctantly got up from the bed. “I also have a fractured rib and some bruising.”

“My Merlin, what happened?” Goldflower looked at him in shock.

“We had a fight,” Harry told her honestly. “He tried to strangle me, so I hit him over the head.”

“What…”

“I was under the Imperius Curse,” specified Draco, shooting Harry a look.

“Well, of course,” Harry shrugged. “Haven’t I mentioned that?”

“I see,” said Ms. Goldflower quietly and took out her wand. “ _Tergeo_! You need to rest, Mr. Malfoy. I will bring you a potion for your head.”

“Actually… I would like to go home now, please.”

“But your head!”

“He needs to give his testimony right away,” Harry replied for him. “Please, give us our wands back, Ms. Goldflower.”

“Oh. Fine,” Ms. Goldflower shook her head in disapproval. “But he still needs to rest. I’ll give you the potion to go, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Thank you,” said Draco politely and led her toward the door.

 

***

“So, are we going to the Aurors’ office now then?” Draco asked him once the door behind Ms. Goldflower closed.

“Whatever for?”

“But you said…”

“Oh, that,” Harry shook his head. “No, I was just saying it for her. You can do it any time, just send me on owl.”

“I see. So, that’s it then?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Harry got out his bag from under the bed and began packing. “It was nice seeing you, Draco.”

Draco nodded. _Same to you_.

“But, I mean…” Harry paused. “If you want to come right now…”

“Yes, I would rather get it over with…”

“Then I could give you a ride, if you want to…”

“Are you not Apparating away?”

“No, yesterday, I didn’t have a wand, so I took a car back here. I have to bring it back.”

“A car?”

“Yes, a flying car,” smiled Harry. “It’s like a train, only significantly smaller.”

“Merlin, I know what a car is, Potter!” Draco threw a pillow into Harry’s face.

Harry laughed and caught the pillow in the midair. Mesmerized, Draco watched him put it back on the bed, his morning hair ruffled, his clothes crumpled, his fingers, long and thin, caressing the pillow, smoothing every wrinkle Draco had given it.

_I could watch him forever,_ Draco thought. _I want to watch him forever._

And then, _I am in love with him. Always was, and always will be, in love with him._

But he wouldn’t ever dare to say it out loud, not even to himself. He wouldn’t let it become real, become a scar, a wound, a breaking point. Things like that, they can only live in the dreams.

Draco closed his eyes and turned away.


	16. Chapter 16

“How many years do you think he will get?” asked Draco. They were flying in Harry’s car over a forest, clouds obscuring the view. Draco opened the window and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air. He missed flying.

“I don’t know,” Harry turned the wheel of the car to avoid entering a cloud. “Someone might decide to make an example out of him, to send a message that revenge will not be tolerated… Or, on the contrary, someone might take pity on him and reduce his sentence based on exonerating circumstances. We will have to testify too, of course.”

“What do you think he should get?”

Harry frowned. “I don’t know. I try not to think about that. I learnt a long time ago, people never get what they deserve.”

Draco watched Harry navigate the sky, descending now, having spotted the road.

“Almost there,” he said. “We might need to drive now, depending on the traffic. I don’t want us to be seen.”

“It’s fine.” _The longer it takes to get there, the better_.

“Having second thoughts about giving your testimony?” Harry seemed to have read Draco’s mind.

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I just don’t want to deal with the Aurors, that’s all. I really hoped I would never have to be in another Court in my life. Last time took all that remained of my dignity; I doubt this one will be any different.”

“This time you are the victim, not a witness or an accused. It will be different.”

Draco chuckled softly. “You know that’s bullshit, Potter. Half of that Court wouldn’t mind using Cruciatus on me themselves. It is Brown they will pity, not me.”

Harry landed the car and stopped it on the side of the road. Both his hands still on the wheel, he turned his head to face Draco.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, but I do.”

“No, you don’t,” Harry put the car in park. “Not today, anyway. I can just take you home.”

“I don’t want to go home either. I want to stay right here, in this forest. Can you leave me here?” not waiting for a response, Draco opened the car door.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Harry screamed from the car, but Draco was already walking fast toward the woods.

“Going for a walk!” Draco screamed back, running down the hill into the darkness.

“Wait! Malfoy! Are you seriously running off into the damn woods?” Harry was running after him, his voice growing closer. Draco stopped and leaned on a tree. 

“What, you scared, Potter?” he smirked.

Harry demonstratively rolled his eyes. 

Draco winked at Harry. “Come on. I saw a river over there, behind those trees. There were ducks. Let’s go feed them.”

“With what?”

“I have some cookies from your car,” Draco showed Harry a bag full of cookies. “I think they’re the ones Lovegood sent you.”

“So, you stole my cookies to run off and feed some ducks?” Harry stared a him, his head tilted slightly, his lips pressed together as if he was trying hard not to smile.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I Accioed them only after I saw the river. Oh, come on, are you coming or not? The ducks won’t feed themselves.”

“I’m pretty confident they will, actually,” Harry replied with a half-smile, but obediently followed Draco down the path.

 

***

The ducks excitedly threw themselves on the crumpled cookies Draco was giving them. He handed the bag to Harry.

“Thank you,” Harry absentmindedly grabbed one and threw it in the water.

“You have to break it first, Harry, they can’t bite.”

Harry grabbed another cookie and broke it in half. “Draco, what are we doing here?” 

Draco bit a cookie and didn’t reply.

Harry crumpled one half of his cookie and threw the crumbs in the river. He put the other half in his mouth. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“All right,” Draco took a deep breath and squatted down next to the river. “I haven’t told you this before, because I didn’t think it was important, but… I think I have to tell you now, given that it might come out during the hearings anyway… Everything always does…” Draco took a pause. Harry sat down next to him and stared at him patiently. 

“Hefferson, he knew my mother,” Draco continued slowly. “She found him after that article the Daily Prophet had written about him. She acquired his help, you see, she thought he might help me with my… with the things I’ve been going through. That’s why he put me on the wrong floor, and you in my room. I don’t know what he was thinking, doing that, and, unfortunately, never will, but here it is. You were supposed to be a part of my cure, I gather. Ridiculous, right?”

Harry looked down at the water. “I know,” he said finally. “Among the files, they gave me yours as well. I only went through it yesterday evening, when you were with your mother. It had Hefferson’s notes attached, and the history of your previous admissions. I didn’t read that!” Harry added quickly, seeing Draco’s reaction. “But I got the gist.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Draco asked defensively.

“Hefferson’s notes said you didn’t know about your mother’s involvement. I didn’t want to intrude. It was between you and her. I didn’t think she told you.”

“She only told me during that visit. What else did the file say? Did Hefferson explain why he decided to put you in one room with me? That’s the only thing I can’t figure out.”

“He did,” Harry took off his glasses and cleaned them with his sleeve. “He thought you needed to confront me. He thought it would help you move on.”

“Confront you? About what?”

“He didn’t specify,” Harry put his glasses back on his nose.

“Well, he was wrong anyway. What I’ve been doing, it had nothing to do with you. In the matter of fact, I haven’t thought about you in years, until he announced you to be living with me. It is sharing my room with you that brought back old memories, old… feelings. All I wanted was for the Mark to be gone. I didn’t want to confront every ghost of my past.”

“The Mark won’t go away, it is a part of you now, Draco, forever. But it will fade away, eventually. Become dormant, almost unnoticeable.”

“Like your scar? The one that keeps hurting you?”

“Only in my dreams,” Potter smiled softly. “And dreams end. Even nightmares end.”

“I used to dream about you,” Draco said quietly. “All kinds of dreams. I even dreamt about you the first night you stayed in our room. Your hair turned into snakes and then you tried to devour me. It was pretty intense, actually. I would put into the nightmare category.”

“I used to dream about you, too. It happens. Yesterday I dreamt that Brown made you jump off that roof before I could stop you. I couldn’t save you. Then Brown turned out to be Voldemort, and then my scar began to hurt, so I woke up. It was the middle of the night, and you were sleeping next to me, and I thought for a second I was still dreaming, but then I remembered."

Draco chuckled. “You were afraid you couldn’t _save_ me? Merlin, Harry…”

“No, I was afraid I lost you,” Harry stared at Draco. “After everything… I don’t want to lose you, too.”

“Why?” Draco got up on his feet. “Why do you care?”

“I just _do_ ,” Harry got up as well, and was now standing in front of Draco. He put his hand on Draco’s shoulder, trying to stop him from walking away. “Why are you so upset about it?”

“Merlin, Potter, I’m not upset, I —“ Draco said and turned away, hand on his lips, trying to choose the right words.

But instead of saying anything, he turned around abruptly, then grabbed Harry’s head with both his hands, and kissed him full on the mouth.


	17. Chapter 17

Draco was running deeper into the forest.

“Hey, wait!” Harry was running after him, but Draco wouldn’t, couldn’t turn around. Not now, not yet. He needed time. He needed to freeze this moment and study it, dissect it, try to understand.

Finally, he did it. He kissed Harry Potter. 

Now all Draco wanted to do was to drown himself in a river. _How could he do that? Why would he do that? What is he supposed to do now? Now Harry Potter will never be his friend; he will never look at him the same way again. Will he even look at him again?_

Draco ran through the woods, not stopping, not catching his breath. There was no going back now, no way to undo what he had done. It was already cemented in the past, became his history, his biography, his defining moment.

He kissed Harry Potter, and Harry Potter kissed him back.

After several minutes of running, Harry caught up with him. 

“Merlin, Draco, can you stop for a second? Do you _want_ to get lost in the woods?”

Draco didn’t answer.

“Hey! We need to talk about it. What just happened, we need to — Can we please talk about what just happened?”

Draco remained silent.

“Fine! Just — Just stop!” Harry grabbed Draco by his shoulder and pressed him into a tree. “Look at me!”

Draco looked him straight in the eye, breathing heavily, his jaw clenched. “What do you want me to say? Apologize?”

“No, I don’t want you to apologize, I just… I didn’t know that that is how you feel about me.”

Draco punched grass with his foot. “What, it wasn’t obvious?”

“No,” chuckled Harry, his eyebrows raised.

“I thought the whole sleeping in your bed thing was a dead giveaway.”

“Well, I thought you had a concussion.”

“I must’ve.”

Harry raised his hand. “How many fingers do you see?”

“Four.”

“You’re lying.”

“Always am.”

“I was lying too, you know,” Harry said quietly, after a brief pause. His voice was gentle, unsure. “When I said I didn’t know why I care. I do. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“Why not?” Draco slid down the tree and sat on the ground, his arms hugging his knees. Harry remained still.

“I needed more time. I needed to be sure.”

“Are you still unsure?”

“No,” Harry went around Draco and sat next to him, his back to the tree. “I know what I feel. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure about what?”

“Stop it, Draco,” Harry pushed Draco with his shoulder.

“No, you tell me, sure about what?” Draco pushed Harry back.

“Whatever it was we were talking about.”

“I have no idea what you were talking about.”

“Oh, come on!”

Draco bit his lips to hide a smile.

“What, you want me to say it first? That’s just silly.”

“Say what first?”

“Merlin, Draco, you know exactly what I’m talking about! Anyway, we should just go. We have to get your testimony, and it’s getting dark already.”

“Just say it, Potter.”

“All right, fine!” Harry got to his feet. “I am in love with you! Are you satisfied? Can we go now?”

Draco got up to his feet and walked up to Harry, as casually as he could. He kissed Potter on the cheek and then moved his lips toward his ear, breathing heavily, as if preparing to whisper a secret…

“Yes, we can go now,” he finally whispered to Harry and, smiling, began marching back to the car.

 

***

Though they never made it to the Ministry, by the time Draco got to his house, it was already after dark. He must’ve made Harry do a thousand circles above the Manor, not wanting to say goodbye. They sat in silence now for some time already. It was nice, not having to talk.

Draco didn’t want to spoil the gentleness of silence, not even to say goodbye.

When they got out of the car, he kissed Harry on the lips again, a full, hungry kiss, his palm buried in Harry’s hair. Harry’s hand slid down Draco’s spine and stopped unsurely near his waist.

He was the first to break the silence.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Harry asked him, still holding Draco in his arms. _Such an unnecessary, tautological question._ They have already decided on where and when.

“Yes, of course,” Draco kissed him again, to make him shut up.

“You have to go home now,” Harry said, stopping the kiss. “It’s getting late.”

_Yes, I am. Yes, it is. Do you think I don’t know that?_ Draco wanted to say, but then, suddenly, it hit him.  Harry wasn’t talking to him. He was saying it to himself, _for_ himself, almost if he was trying to persuade himself to leave. Harry Potter didn’t want to leave him.

Harry told him before that he was afraid to lose him, but only now Draco was beginning to believe him.

Beaming, Draco kissed him on the cheek and let go.

“I love you, you know? Good night,” he said simply and, before Harry could answer, Apparated himself outside of the Manor. 

Standing on the porch, he watched for a while as the flying car ascended higher and higher, moving closer to the Moon as if dancing in the skies, until it became distant and small, like one of the stars. He wished upon it to come back again, then opened the door.

_All nightmares end_ , Draco thought to himself, _but it is dreams that keep us alive until they do. Until they are nothing but memories._

_And what are memories? Lessons, not blueprints. Just like scars are the warnings of the body, memories are the warnings of the mind, navigating our becomings, but not defining who we choose to become. We are more than a summary of our old scars and bruises, dead tissue and spilled blood, we are more than a collection of memories, mindlessly dumped into a Pensieve. We are alive… I am alive, and I am tired of being afraid of that._

Draco took a step forward and closed the door behind him.


End file.
